


only goodness gives extras

by svpportive



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alliteration, Case Fic, Drama, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Requited Love, The Year of Our Lord 1895, and have some epiphanies along the way, eye emoji, gay people, holmes and watson go on a gay lil adventure, ugh always wanted to use that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svpportive/pseuds/svpportive
Summary: The case of the mysterious floriography was in the end, more of a personal adventure than a crime-solving experience, so would not be due for publishing regardless, and that much has been abundantly clear since the moment the body was found in our sitting room with the note extending their“Compliments to Dr. John H. Watson”.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 108





	1. Rhododendron: Danger

**Author's Note:**

> hi! welcome to this thing that's haunted my every thought for a month, since i first had the idea in the shower and rushed out to text jess "hey wouldnt it be funny if i wrote a 20k casefic abt this concept" and then it snowballed. 27k later, here are, and im glad to see how coherent it all came out, bc GOD how do people write like this normally what the fuck. what else is there to say except enjoy holmes n watson being gay ppl on a lil adventure!
> 
> thank u to my friends who've tolerated my every conversation revolving around This for the past few weeks, ur angels. jess, i love u. and for you reading this... thank u legend.
> 
> any mistakes are definitely mine and out of laziness in research. sorry acd but ily and this ones for you

_“It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”_ \- The Adventure of the Naval Treaty

  
This retelling concerns the incidents that took place within the early months of 1895, in what would prove to be a memorable year indeed, not the least because of the revelations brought about by the particular problem that found itself within our very own rooms one chilly February evening. Holmes had been returned to me and the world for close to a year when events unfolded that would further change our regard for each other, beginning first with the arrival of a threatening message.

My friend Sherlock Holmes had received death threats before. The infamous Professor Moriarty had arrived in person to deliver his, there was one in the almost laughable display of strength by Dr. Roylott, and years later, there will be yet another menacing warning from a Baron that Holmes will merely throw aside with something like mirth, horrifying me. And there were - and unfortunately will continue to be - countless others. For as long as he continued this line of work threats to his life would remain a constant danger, and this he explained to me painstakingly each time one arrived as if this clarification would somehow lessen my horror. However, all these demonstrations had been poor preparation for the first time a death threat was sent to Baker Street marked clearly not for Holmes, but for me.

Unaware as we were of what was to come, that evening had begun in high spirits, as just that morning we had returned triumphant back to London after solving some case in the countryside that I have recorded elsewhere. To celebrate we had gone first to Mancini’s, “ _to remind ourselves what fine dining is like, my dear Watson!_ ” and then attended a concert at Royal Albert Hall that provided Holmes with both enjoyment and excellent material upon which to lecture me on the cab drive to Baker Street. This in turn brought me enjoyment, as to see Holmes in this element, with his top hat and his tails and debonair air, smiling at me triumphantly upon our front stoop, was a treat worthy of any fancy meal or music.

So as to not reveal how breathless the image of him imposing and elegant as ever in the lamplight left me, I made a joke that even to my ears marked a clear misunderstanding of what he had been saying, butchering the nuances of his speech. Yet he still barked a clear short laugh as he let us into our rooms, a demonstration perhaps of how on top of the world we felt we were that particular night.

Mrs. Hudson greeted us at the door, which was surprising due to the lateness of the hour. By now she most usually would have retired, as she knew better than to wait up for us, and we had been out these past couple days.

“There are two gentlemen to see you, Mr. Holmes, who insisted they would not be turned away.”

Holmes raised one fine eyebrow. “Oh? Then we shall not turn them away either! Come Watson, it seems there is yet more excitement in store for us this evening.”

“More excitement?” I laughed, hardly believing it, but such was the life when one was compatriots with Sherlock Holmes, and I bounded up the stairs after him.

What greeted me however, cut any exhilaration short, as Holmes failed to answer my retort, instead standing still in the doorway to our sitting room with his expression shattered in a way I had never seen before and hope I never again will. I immediately went to his side, to see what he was looking at that would inspire such shock, and was not disappointed.

For there in the inviting warmth of our sitting room and at the foot of my own armchair, lay a man supine upon the floor, unmoving.

I let out an involuntary noise out of horror, and that must have been what finally galvanized Holmes out of his temporary paralysis as we both then rushed to our knees before the body. I placed my hand underneath and within the man’s undone collar to feel for a pulse.

I looked to Holmes, stunned. “He’s dead.”

He did not meet my gaze, continuing to scan the body in that recognizable calculated way that could pull any mortal man apart within minutes. He fingered gently the man’s clothing, brushing over and removing the three single flowers that were pinned to the man’s left breast pocket, along with something else I could not catch a glimpse of. Finally he then looked up at me, his expression unreadable but filling me with cold dread all the same.

“Rouse Mrs. Hudson at once.”

Our landlady shrieked upon seeing the body in front of the fireplace, but Holmes did not afford her a whit of sympathy before interrogating her on the night’s events. Though white as a sheet, she was still the woman of steel that bore the likes of us daily, and so she nevertheless sat on the settee and while staring unseeingly into the dead man still unknown on our floor, began her report.

Around 9 o’clock as she was readying for bed, she had let in two gentlemen who did not seem either to understand both the lateness of the hour or that Mr. Holmes was not in at the moment. 

“Two men?” asked Holmes, to which Mrs. Hudson nodded.

One of these men was the one who had evidently met his untimely end here, and the other was a charming gentleman who had cajoled her into letting them past the door. Mrs. Hudson dutifully described this other gentleman as being of medium height, with a Roman nose, snake-like eyes but not unhandsome features, and hair just to his shoulders, wearing a navy overcoat that he denied her request to take.

“He gave me a wide grin and said you had set up an appointment this late for his own convenience. He apologized, and was otherwise very polite, sir, so I allowed them in..”

“Neither of them gave their names?”

“No, sir. Just that Dr. Watson and you were expecting them, and that they were happy to wait until you returned.”

Holmes remained bent at Mrs. Hudson’s feet, his eyes no longer closed as they had been throughout her account. “And did this gentleman say anything else while he was here? Come, woman, the slightest detail could be of importance!”

At this familiar disrespect Mrs. Hudson regained some color. “He denied tea when I asked, in favor of some water for his friend, who didn’t speak a word while I saw him, and I only left then but a minute for me to fetch some water.” She looked down at her lap before admitting one last thing. “I didn’t see the former leave sir, but I did hear the door shut sometime after, though at the time I assumed it was Billy back after forgetting his umbrella again.”

Holmes nodded soberly, before rising and turning back around to face the body once more. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, you have been most valuable. Now I suggest some rest, however before you do,” he strode over to my desk and removed some telegraph paper, scribbling hurriedly as he spoke, “please do me the favor of sending this note off to the boy, Jameson, positioned across the street.”

Mrs. Hudson rose to take the paper he handed her, and nodded once. On her way to the door I managed to clear my throat, and thank her.

“It’s no trouble, Doctor. I just hope I haven’t opened the two of you up to some new danger.” 

And with that she took her leave and retreated down the seventeen steps. As soon as she did Holmes began to pace, his usual path upon our carpet significantly shortened by the corpse’s long legs. He stopped suddenly, spotting something on the stand beside my chair. A small water cup, which he sniffed at like a hound before swiftly looking to me.

“Watson, I think you had better go to bed.”

I have never been dismissed in this way, while in the middle of a case no less, and especially one that took place within our own sitting room. Therefore I balked at the suggestion. “Of course not, Holmes! Why would I leave now!”

He did not answer me, instead at once kneeling again and resuming his careful inspection of the body, as if it might reveal any more clues to the man’s identity and purpose, or indeed to his friend’s.

“Holmes,” I insisted once again, for I confess I was getting rather impatient. And rattled, for that matter. I had been a soldier, and saw dangers and horrors almost just as regularly in my time with Holmes, so long as to grow somewhat numb to the fears inspired, but to see it invade our space like this was another thing entirely, and it unsettled me deeply. Even so however, I would not leave Holmes’ side. His not providing me with further answers except to dismiss me and attempt to keep me in the dark once again only left me more anxious to know what he had deduced thus far.

“I can tell you nothing Watson, except for the meagre details that appear before me!”

“And those are?” I prompted.

He tsked but laid his facts before me regardless. “This gentleman is in his mid-thirties, I would hazard to guess, and is a journalist judging by his typist’s fingers and the bags under his eyes - they speak of late nights and deadlines. From his clothes we can tell he is not very well off but comfortable enough, with a cushion afforded by his small yet substantial inheritance. He has only his mother left to mourn him.”

He looked up at me and answered my question before I could ask it. “His maintenance and habits make it clear that he has been in close proximity and in the warm care of a woman, however he bears no wedding ring.”

“Ah.” I uttered, looking at the man’s brown hair and boyish jaw, and tried not to picture the mother who would never know what became of a beloved son.

“He has been poisoned, although an odorless one that will need to be identified by a coroner. Most likely arsenic, placed in the water procured by Mrs. Hudson so as to provide a quick yet clean death - this mysterious gentleman is clever, Watson.”

It is a mark of the years that I have spent knowing and indeed studying this man that allowed me the knowledge to see his composed expression and deduce lasting contrition. He was yet withholding. “And what else? For there must be something else.”

“Judging by the hairs still remaining on his collar and dress, his facial hair has recently been cut down to a familiar style - within the man’s last few hours.” Holmes noted, his voice unexpectedly quiet and in a much graver register. His change in tone made me look closer, and I observed then that the man’s moustache looked almost exact to my own. This information on its own should mean little - mine was of a rather common style - and yet the tone in which Holmes brought this to my attention told me all I needed to know of its grim quality.

“And then- you really wish to know all, Watson?”

“Yes!” I said, emphatically, wondering what danger he’d perceived to be so great as to be reduced to such trepidation.

He sighed at my answer, and regarded me carefully. “Then I shall tell you. For there is also this.”

From the same pocket that he had carefully removed the flowers he pulled out a card, and he silently handed it to me. I could see that it was blank except for six words in neat penmanship.

_Compliments to Dr. John H. Watson_

I jumped up from where I had taken a tentative seat on the settee. Holmes rose at once as well, one graceful movement.

“This is precisely what I had hoped to avoid, dear boy!” He said, stepping closer to me and taking the card back. “I had not wished to alarm you, especially when the facts are not yet clear.”

“They are clear enough, Holmes! Someone wants me dead, and they have demonstrated this with abundant clarity!”

“I would not rush to make any judgements of the sort just yet. I have the feeling there is still much to be learned from the little gift our murderer has given us.”

He clapped his hands to my shoulders. “But there is nothing one can do about it at the moment, and I assure you, even as it may not seem so, Baker Street is still safe enough for you to get some rest tonight, Doctor. I will make sure of it.”

As touched as I was by his gesture it meant nothing in the face of our current situation, and I broke free from his grasp. “How can you say that! I doubt I will get any sleep tonight, as at the very least I aim to be by your side as we get to the bottom of this. I believe it is my right.”

Holmes had bristled, but something in my last sentence had made him relax his shoulders at the last in conciliatory defeat . “As you wish.”

“I do wish.” I repeated, confirming. We stared at each other as if waiting for the other to back down - which I knew was a formidable task as both of us could be likened to oxen on a good day - when the bell rang downstairs.

Holmes was quick to the doorway. “That must be Lestrade.” he said, but still gestured to his pocket, and I understood his signal and grabbed my revolver from my desk before I followed him down the stairs. If our killer was bold enough to enter through our front door once, what would stop him from making another attempt?

Fortunately, it was in fact the good Inspector, who looked to us in askance when we both greeted him at the door with matching expressions of heightened alarm. He too was on edge, however, I noticed as I took in his rumpled and hasty state of dress.

“You said it was an emergency, Mr. Holmes, and that boy of yours who flagged me down was insistent! What could possibly be the matter that you called on me at home?”

“You had better see for yourself, Inspector.” I told him, and at that his weasely countenance grew even more apprehensive, and he followed us up the stairs without complaint.

“My word!” He exclaimed upon seeing the scene of our sitting room.”What-“

As I could not take my own armchair, I sat at my desk at Holmes’ elbow as he explained in a collected manner all that had happened since we first arrived home a mere hour ago, bringing Lestrade up to date on the details we had learned from Mrs. Hudson and that he had picked up by examining the body, as well as alerting him to the presence of the mysterious charming companion who had disappeared without much trace.

“But why did you not call the police!” Lestrade still cried, “Why call me individually?”

“Because, Lestrade, however I may need this instance reported and taken care of, I have reason to believe this matter is a personal one, both in how the victim has been prepared and brought to us, and I would not have its delicacy disturbed by the presence of the police. Especially as it is not us precisely that are under threat, but Watson alone. That itself begs your utmost caution, a concept your colleagues are not aware of.”

Hearing it aloud and confirmed by Holmes only intensified what fear I had been feeling since the beginning of these events. It was chilling to suddenly find myself targeted so specifically, and within a place I felt so safe. I put a stop to these thoughts, however, as I endeavored to keep this panic at bay for it was not useful. My brain was needed for other exploits at the moment and I could not appear to be weak. I pulled myself together, and faced Lestrade’s incredulous gaze.

“Can you think of anyone who wishes you harm, Dr. Watson?” He asked.

I considered the question. I flatter myself to think that I am an overall genial presence and an amiable person to most, and those that I am on less certain terms with are fairly few in number. I did not myself have many enemies, especially not compared to my companion, though I suppose anyone who wished him dead wouldn’t see much use in my being alive either. I was just one obstacle to him, and I said as much to the inspector.

Holmes himself had grown pale. I imagined that he was thinking as I was, of Professor Moriarty and his threats. As quickly as I’d noticed it however, the anxiety in his expression cleared, and he shook his head. “No, no. Nothing in the appearance of this message - for this man’s death is a clear message to Watson - has any mention or relevance to me, or our connection. It is intended to be directed only at you.”

“But other than scaring the living daylights out of me, I see no other message!” I ejaculated.

“Then we must look closer,” Holmes said, and knelt down before the body to pick up the flowers laid on the man’s left jacket pocket. “I believe these may hold the answer.”

“Flowers…” Lestrade affirmed, before a light came to his eyes, and he sat up straighter. “That reminds me - there was a body found, Mr. Holmes, in Hyde Park on Tuesday morning. Gregson didn’t think anything of it - most likely just a drunk who had had one too many or something of the sort - but it was noted that he had been found with three flowers tucked within his pocket but no identification. The case seemed interesting, but not quite enough to bring the matter to you as you were out of town. No card for Dr. Watson or anything like that though.”

Holmes looked up sharply, “Do you happen to know what flowers they were?”

Disappointingly, Lestrade shook his head. “I do not, unfortunately. I can inquire, but not tonight - it’s much too late and I’m technically off-duty.”

I nodded in understanding although I was just as discontented by this as my friend was, who stood up once again from his chair to pace once more the small space afforded to us. His spine was ramrod straight, but his eyes betrayed a thunderstorm of emotions, fear among them. “If indeed that cadaver shares similarities with the poor soul who met his end here, then we have a very different, larger danger on our hands.”

Lestrade let out a large exhale at that, and I believe I mirrored him. I did not know what to make of any of what had transpired, and Holmes’ expression did not settle my nerves at all.

Still, he rallied his troops as we sat before him, scared and witless. “Go home, Lestrade, and first thing tomorrow notify the proper channels of the situation, though be as discreet as you can, even among your colleagues. We cannot risk word of this getting out just yet, but a coroner’s opinion is needed, and his mother ought to be found so as to bury her son. Make what inquiries you can about this other John Doe you mentioned, and report back to us here as soon as you can. There is a chance this business has been going on longer than it took for us to take notice.”

Lestrade took his orders and with a meaningful nod to me he said his goodbyes and departed. I noticed that it was now pushing midnight.

“Yes, there has been sufficient turmoil tonight, hasn’t there, Watson.” said Holmes, as ever reading my thoughts as if I had said them aloud.

“So much that I fear I will not be able to sleep,” said I. Indeed I did not know how I would be able to leave this room and Holmes’ comforting presence as security, let alone close my eyes to drift off tonight.

“But you must, my dear boy, or you will be of no use to me tomorrow, and more than ever I need you by my side in this matter. It is of utmost importance.” Holmes turned to me as he spoke, his eyes gentler than I had seen them, and somehow he guided me to stand from my chair and raised a hand when I tried to speak. “I myself will not be sleeping tonight, that is a given, so you may take my room and my bed, Watson.”

“Ho-“

“You may leave the door open too, to hear anything running afoot, but also to see me in the sitting room should you need me. I will keep a fire going in any case, so everything should be visible to you.” He looked to me hopefully, but I could tell that he brooked no argument.

“Alright.” I conceded, finally, because any resistance to Sherlock Holmes was futile from the start. Exhaustion was starting to take hold, the adrenaline finally seeping away and leaving me to agree to his terms. “But you will wake me at the first sign of trouble.”

He ignored my stern tone. “When have I ever not done so?”

An answer to that rose quickly to mind but it was bitter and had no place in this conversation. I turned to climb the stairs and retrieve my sleepclothes, as we were both still in our evening wear. Dinner and our concert now seemed like a different time altogether. “Goodnight, Holmes.”

I watched him walk back into the sitting room and step over the body so as to retrieve his pipe and settle in for a night of contemplation, calling behind himself, “Goodnight, Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mrs. Hudson letting ppl into their empty apartment, unfortunately, is true to canon. one of the few slights against our beloved landlady.  
> \- ACD had a habit of referring to Lestrade's appearance as kind of rodentia and who am i to stop the tradition?  
> \- i only allowed myself one watson "I ejaculated!" total, and here i went and used it up in the first chapter


	2. Pulmonaria: Devotion

I slept fitfully, even with Holmes’ assurances, not helped in the least by the menacing visages of the criminal portraits that adorned his bedroom. I found rather more solace than I should have in the simple scent of him on the bedclothes, and when I did wake in the night it was indeed a comfort as he said to be able to view my friend sitting in his armchair by the fire, safe yet keeping guard.

It was rather a role reversal in a certain way, for him to be in the position I so often had assumed, my service revolver ready in protecting him from threat and keeping watch as we waited in some dark niche for some plan of his to come to fruition. And yet now it was him keeping watch for me.

I have on many occasions contemplated my feelings for Holmes, but instead of warring with them as I had during the first years of our acquaintance, I had for a long time now resigned them to be a lifelong experience. They did not wither as I once hoped but rather rooted stronger and more resolute, and before long I began to think of them as just another part of my heart, of myself. My admiration for the man, and the loyalty I had for him were there from the founding of our partnership as more than just fellow lodgers, but they deepened along with my involvement with him. I knew now as I did then that my love for him, unspoken as it always would remain, would sustain me; to have him back again in whatever capacity was enough for me to be content for the rest of my life.

Exhaustion must have eventually taken me in the end, as I fell into consistent unconsciousness in the wee hours of the morning, and was roused from sleep by steps on the staircase. Once I acclimated to the unfamiliar surroundings that were not my own bedroom my brain focused, and I remembered at once the events of the previous night, and the work that was to be done that morning.

There were voices in hushed tones outside in the hallway, and from what I had been able to make out it was Inspector Lestrade, back again with news. Out of my eagerness, I exited Holmes’ bedroom at once, rushing to greet him and discover what he learned and could tell us of this other, similar murder. Especially in this case, I was determined not to miss a single detail. Holmes was with him, having opened the door for him, and I bid him good morning as well before focusing my attentions.

Lestrade’s ferret-like features widened slightly, but he did not miss a beat before informing the both of us that he had called in the murder and that his colleagues were waiting downstairs to be brought up, but after the body was collected he would tell us all that he had learned. He then left to do just that.

“Watson,” Holmes caught my attention, “you might find it in your interest to get dressed.”

“Oh!” In my haste, I had not noticed, and I flushed darkly as I pictured how Lestrade had just seen me exit Holmes’ bedroom in only my nightgown and housecoat, and the implications that arose from that. “Quite right.”

Holmes seemed amused, so I did not feel too alarmed, but I knew my ears were still burning red as I rushed to my bedroom to change.

When I returned, Lestrade had arrived with his constable and the undertakers to finally free our rooms, and Holmes sat watching their proceedings from my desk with a keen eye. The flowers the man had had on his person had been removed, I saw, and sat before him next to a book he had pulled from my own shelf.

The book was one I recognized as not my own, but of belonging to my late wife. After her untimely passing I had not been able to keep her things within sight out of grief, similar to how I had once avoided Baker Street, and as such much of her things had been moved to storage for safekeeping or to those of her remaining relatives and friends. The book Holmes had in front of him was one of the few keepsakes I kept with me, so as to never fully forget her place in my heart.

As the undertakers performed their duties and the constable followed them back down to the street to assist, Lestrade stepped fully into the room, and in turn Holmes squared his shoulders. “Well?”

“Well Mr. Holmes, I made the requested inquiries, and I was right. A cadaver was unremarkable except for the flowers found with him, and once you mentioned it, his similar physical appearances to this one.”

“Which were?”

Lestrade glanced at me hesitantly, though I could not tell if it was unconsciously done or not. “Similar to the man you found last night, sir, short light brown hair, neat moustache, typically of average height and athletic or square build, although yours was slightly taller. And I can’t describe it, really, but something about the ears as well, seemed reminiscent of...” He trailed off, and looked determinedly instead at the curtains.

“And the flowers, Inspector, were they the same?”

“Yes, I believe so. There was some trouble identifying them, especially as sadly there just isn’t that sort of time given to some of these mysterious deaths of poorer folk - but from the report and some nudging, Gregson identified them to be the same three.”

“Very well then.” Holmes stepped away from the desk and into his armchair, gesturing for Lestrade and I to take a seat as well. I sat at the breakfast table, only then remembering that we had yet to eat that morning. “Are you familiar, Lestrade, with the so-called language of the flowers?”

“I am, vaguely, yes sir.”

“I hypothesize we may be able to divine some value then from their prescribed meanings, if our murderer also subscribes to this school of thought.” And he held up Mary’s book in his hands. How he had found it and remembered it among my possessions I do not know, but it hadn’t mattered then. He handed the book off to me, and I took it with care, mindful of its original owner - whatever its importance to the case may be.

He then brought forward the flowers. “Watson, if you please? Petunia.”

Obligingly, I looked through the index and found the page he requested before reading aloud. “Petunia. Resentment and Anger.”

Holmes did not blink. “That is somewhat of a given, as we cannot expect anyone willing to send a message in this fashion is doing so out of any goodness in their heart.” Holding them in his left hand, he used his right to pluck the petunia, and then pulled the next. “Hyacinth. And it bears noting that it is yellow, which could hold particular significance in this language.”

“Hyacinth, yellow,” I repeated, and made an effort to keep my voice steady, “Jealousy.”

Holmes did not have anything to add, but I saw his forehead wrinkle as he frowned. “And finally, a blue violet.”

I flipped through the pages, “Blue Violet: Faithfulness, Consistency, Watchfulness.”

“One of those is not like the other.” Lestrade pointed out. “The last of those traits could mean-”

“Yes.” Holmes agreed, halting the inspector’s conclusion. “Then our suspect has seen that we have found the body and are actively investigating, due to your presence here Lestrade, and that of the undertakers. They have been watching enough too, to know that their first attempt failed to gain Watson’s attention and so they needed to try again in a much bolder, obvious fashion.”

“Dear god.” Lestrade uttered. “What more could there be to come that necessitates watching you!”

Holmes ignored him. “Judging by the floriography and the nature of the murders themselves, I am inclined to suppose that this has some relation to a romantic entanglement of yours, Watson.” And then to my astonishment, his eyes were on me, but they were fresh and it seemed as if he was seeing me for the first time.

“Romantic? But what lady would do such a thing, and with what kind of friend as this gentleman?” asked Lestrade.

Fortunately, I was saved from answering by the return of the constable, asking for a word with Lestrade outside. I watched him go, aware suddenly that his presence was both the biggest threat to me at the moment and yet my only rescue from the realization my friend had just about my nature.

It is a great secret to me how I have kept my inversion unknown to my friend, who has divined entire epics from the state of my pantlegs before. My own journey through discovering this truth in my youth had been long and tedious but done entirely in secret until the army, but when returning to civilian society I did not think twice before hiding it once more. However, I never truly knew how it escaped his notice, as he never once showed an indication that he suspected it, and only ever remarked upon my performance with ladies. It was almost as if my equal interest in men as with women was his one blindspot in his knowing me inside and out, and although I believe I knew Holmes well enough in turn to not give me up to the authorities, I nevertheless kept my inclinations hidden. He was not the inhuman deducting machine I often times have described him as in my stories so as to cover my tracks; however he did have a rather low regard for love of any sort (let alone the one that dare not speak its name, as it had been so definitively termed), and I feared his reaction especially to how my specific interests related to him, bound together as these two secrets were. I had lost him once, and that wound had not healed long enough for me to not still feel keenly its sting.

“Holmes,” and I paused to see if he would interrupt, as he was wont to do. He did not. I looked down at my hands, unsure how to word what I needed to say, before raising my head to face him. “There is something you may need to know about me in its relevance to this case, that I have had reason to withhold from you for the years of our acquaintance.”

Lestrade was abruptly back in the doorway at that instance, making my heart that had already risen to my throat almost leap out entirely. “Sorry, but it seems I’m needed urgently back at the Yard. Is there anything else I can do, Dr. Watson? Perhaps arrange for a police presence outside Baker Street? Patrolmen?” I stuttered at the thought but was saved from answering.

“No, that won’t be necessary, Lestrade. Certain details are emerging that are making this case quite easier to understand now. I think actually we will be able to manage on our own from here - we are yet safe within these walls.”

Lestrade looked between the both of us, and I could see plainly that he did not wish to leave our mystery unattended, especially with his confusion at Holmes’ sudden dismissal. He would have to however, and God forgive me but I was grateful then for whatever crime had taken place to remove him from our sitting room and the conversation I was about to start. “Alright. Do not hesitate to wire for me if there is anything I can do.” And then mercifully, he departed.

When Holmes spoke next he was as equally careful in his wording as I had been. I chanced a glance to see that his eyes were still intent on me, but his usual steepled fingers and stony expression that brooked no argument appeared softer somehow and once again he was looking at me with that mixture of surprise and almost awe. “I would not ask you to reveal anything should you not be comfortable, my dear Watson, however present circumstances do mean that there is a distinct need to hear it, as well as some details.”

He was being needlessly kind. It was the sort of tone he used when handling clients of a softer nature: younger ones who had been cheated, ladies who had been mistreated, or good working-class people put into dire straits by men more powerful and more wealthy than they were human. A part of me rebuffed the need to be taken care of, but I also recognized that it took a special sort of man to contain the depths and values that Sherlock Holmes did. I was grateful, and so I would tell him all that was needed, for both our sakes.

Whoever I had been while in the army, I was not one for dalliances once I settled back into civilian life at Baker Street. One of the reasons I did not return advances or engage in entanglements with men upon my return was of course, self-consciousness and shame due to my newfound injuries, but there was also my growing admiration for my fellow lodger and friend to contend with, that grew stronger and more undeniable day by day. When in 1888 I found my chance to escape this increasingly impossible environment with the events I detailed in “The Sign of Four”, I seized it. For while I had never resented Holmes for my unrequited feelings, I was beginning to grow hopeless, not helped by our growing disagreements about his drug usage that led to a sort of rough patch, and I wanted to avoid any falling out we might have had.

I have always been guilty of embellishments in my stories and that novel is not exempt, but better put, is in fact the example that proves the rule. When I first met Mary Morstan I did remark that she was a very attractive woman, however that was as far as my feelings toward her went at the time for I was still very much hopelessly infatuated with a man I believed would never be capable of returning my affection. After the conclusion of the case however, she approached me because as sharp as she was, she had deduced my situation without either of us saying a word, with that sense that only those who were of our inversion could ever truly reach. She offered her counsel, and when I rebuffed her and told her that she did not know my friend as I did, she then asked if I could be of some further help to her instead. 

Miss Morstan had a lover herself, but her lot was lucky in the sense that it was a requited and mutual feeling. The only thing keeping them apart was society’s view and misunderstanding that two women could not also be in love. As she was merely an unmarried governess and her lover an actress with not substantial income herself, they lacked the means to truly be together unencumbered. She asked me this knowing we were dear friends, and as I saw no reason why I could not help her I acquiesced. I knew even then that my heart would always belong to Holmes, so I found no reason that this should hinder me in any way. The man himself, when I explained my intention to marry, never could fully understand it, but made peace enough with my choice that I felt able to leave Baker Street within the next few months. Our separation was painful but necessary I felt, so as to regain some of my mind back to me independent of him, even if I could not still resist coming when he called.

And then came the horrible Professor and my carefully aligned world was upturned with the loss of the one person I held dear, the best and wisest man I ever knew. Mary did her best to help me through but for those next months I was largely inconsolable, and a shadow of the man I once was. When she too left me on this mortal plane and I was left finally alone, I suffered greatly. I fear I became unrecognizable to even myself. I threw myself into my practice and into working as a police surgeon, and at night did the very thing I had spent the last decade avoiding - seeking company of those of my own kind.

There are multiple discreet gentlemen clubs from which to choose for men who shared my condition, and even in my state the one I frequented was one of a more upper class slant, and had clientele that all were the more skilled at avoiding detection and blackmail. I had not, as I mentioned, attended an establishment like this in my time since coming to London; I had somehow escaped the notice of my proclivities from a man who could glean so much just from the way I folded my handkerchief, and so had no illusions as to how my attending a questionable and queer gentleman’s club would be only too easy for him to determine. Now of course, I had no such barrier.

It is here where I felt safe, and where I regained a part of my personhood once again, even as those months still remain a blur to me through my pervasive grief. Here, where I was understood, I felt my tongue could loosen, and it was here that I made friendships that I could not mention outside of the walls of the club.

Once Holmes returned of course, those visits became almost immediately unnecessary. I was more content now, to love silently, now that I knew what it was not to be able to have him in front of me to love at all. I moved back into my old rooms at Baker Street and it was as if we had returned back into our old grooves, although I recognized some of the same relief in Holmes’ smiles that I knew were in my own. In returning to my old lifestyle I left behind the one I had picked up in the last year of his absence, and became once again the paragon of good British decency that he had known me for.

An image now crumbled, I was sure, as I told him all this, barring the secrets my wife had died with, and the pieces that put together my affectionate regard for him. I was sure they were readily obvious, especially to his mind, and yet I did not believe I could part with that secret until I absolutely must. Everything else I lay bare, feeling as if I had just pulled down the walls and coverings I had built above my heart these long years.

When at last he spoke, it was not in fact about my inclinations at all. “I had long known your marriage was built more out of compassion than love, but I confess that even now your capacity for kindness astounds me, Watson.”

“Mary was… a dear friend.” I said tentatively, before leaning forward slightly in my seat. “But that is all you have to say, Holmes? I have just confessed my greatest secret, something you could send me to the gaol for-“

“And yet I obviously have no desire to do so. You have known me to disagree with the law before, dear fellow, and this time is no different. I have long believed that particular section of the Labouchere Amendment to be equally flawed and unjust for the supposed crime it penalizes, and have never been able to make sense of it myself. To my mind all it has accomplished is to give fuel to those criminals that are actually evil, such as blackmailers.”

I took a shaky breath. “You really did not know?”

At that Holmes’ brows furrowed and his gaze averted to the rug, to which he gave a glare. “Somehow it escaped even my notice. Perhaps I did not know to look, and did not think to. An enormous oversight on my part.” He looked back to me, and upon seeing my expression, the frown cleared. “All the same - I see no reason that this should change my regard for you in any way.”

Whether it be the relief at his statement or the aftermath of having revealed so much, tears rose in my eyes at his acceptance, and they would have been shed had I not known how uncomfortable it would make my friend. Worry I did not know I had collected in my joints dissipated, and I felt a large relief. I was grateful, and I hoped I could convey the enormity of my gratitude in those simple two words, “Thank you.”

He waved a hand as if it were nothing. “No need, old boy.” - and to think, after all this I could still be _old boy_ \- “It seems now that there is a long night ahead of us, although I believe I have indeed narrowed our scope immeasurably. Eat, and get some rest today, for at 8 tonight the chase will commence in earnest.” 

He stood then, and beckoned for me to give him the floriography book. I did, while I interjected, “Out? Where?”

Holmes simply gave me a smile that I could not begin to understand, and marched to his room, picking up his Stravidius as he went. “You will see.” And then he closed the door with the scraping of his violin sounding behind it, leaving me to wonder if the past 24 hours were some strange dream.

He finally emerged around a quarter till, waking me. For my part I had spent the day within the four walls of our sitting room, banned as I was from going out. I had eaten a larger lunch to make up for a lack of breakfast, read the paper to a degree that I could now recite the bylines by heart, and then settled in by the afternoon with a medical journal I had been avoiding for some time. Instead I found myself dozing off, exhaustion from the poor sleep of the previous night and the cumbersome order of laying one’s life bare that morning overtaking me, coupled with the still-existing threat over my head.

The Holmes that stood immediately before me was completely unrecognizable, except for the triumphant grin he gave that was likely a result of my jaw-dropped expression. I have always said my friend could have another career as an actor, not just for his talents in disguise and performing but in how he lapped up praise; he was ever delighted in my reactions to his costumes, and made sure to debut them for me even if I would not be accompanying him on whatever venture he needed it for.

He appeared to be a new man, but in the details I could see he was in fact a heightened form of himself. He now bore false sideburns that made his head seem rounder, almost. His cheeks were as clean shaven as ever, as was his liking, but he had done something to make them shine and it seemed as if his cheekbones were sharper and more defined along with some rouge. His hair was not slicked back in his usual style but fell differently around his face and into those new sideburns, glossy. His eyes were brighter somehow, as if he had outlined them to stand out so, and when I peered closer it seemed he had. He was dressed to the nines once again, but with some other flair that gave him a more dandyish air, most notably his elegant and richly coloured tailcoat, and large bow-tied cravat. Holmes had always been likened to be somewhat of an aesthete, but now it looked like he belonged fully as a member of that movement.

As I took him all of him in his grin took on a lazier outfit, his eyes dropping almost salaciously, “Come here often, darling?”

Despite the obvious jest in his tone and the accent he’d taken on to be both a lower register as well as vaguely upper-class French, I blushed like a young maiden asked to dance. “Really, Holmes.”

He laughed and did a turn, his blue coat flared around him as he spun, “What do you think, Watson, will I fit in at your club?”

I cleared my throat, “I dare say you will, Holmes, although even with your disguise I would recommend caution. Your reputation should not be damaged.”

“My reputation will be fine as I have no intention of being recognized tonight.”

(At the time of course, we knew little of how quickly the tide was turning, especially in regards to the matter between Oscar Wilde and the Marquess of Queensberry, and yet the sentiment behind my insistence was rooted in the same fear that would put us on edge when those events did play out mere months later. The question of his being recognized was a very real threat that could very well bring about his ruin, and my talk of his reputation was as much about his personal well-being as his precious career.)

“But with my being there, using my own name, won’t people make-”

“Wait, Watson,” Holmes cut me off at once with a raised hand, “you seem to be mistaken. You are not coming.”

“Then you are not going!” said I, and I stood in my indignation. “Of course I will be with you.”

“You will be doing nothing of the sort.”

“You cannot expect me to just sit here waiting, twiddling my thumbs like some helpless damsel, while you intend to entertain my would-be murderer!”

“The whole purpose of this venture is to keep you away from danger, why on Earth would I bring you before said would-be murderer in the first place! No, you are safest at Baker Street.”

“Am I!” I shouted, as I was beginning to grow rather cross. This was yet another attempt to keep me in the dark. “What’s to stop the man from just waltzing into 221B once again, and accomplishing what he wishes? At least going with you I will be of use!”

Holmes’ voice was cold, and not nearly at the volume mine had been. “Mrs. Hudson has seen him once now, she knows to not let him in, and he is at least smart enough to know that he will not have convenient access to you in this way again. You are of better use to me here.”

“Oh, and what happened to _I need you by my side tomorrow, it is of utmost importance_ , what of that, man?”

“What is of utmost importance is that you are safe!” Holmes yelled. I found any possible retort drying up suddenly. “I will not knowingly put you in harm’s way in this matter, there are too many unknown variables in that it is specifically designed by one who knew you when I had left you at your most vulnerable! I will not do it.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Holmes…” My speech stopped there, as I did not know what else to say. I was still firm in my position but an emotional outburst like this was rare, and I was shocked to see how strongly he felt about the subject.

He shook his head. “Now. I will need the title and the names of your closest associates of this club. No need for alarm, if anything they will merely point me in the right direction.”

I had no choice but to put my anger aside and tell him. His eyebrows raised when I told him the name of the club but he otherwise said nothing. As I did my best to remember the names and aliases of men I had not associated with in almost a year, I considered him, his calculating expression of committing the names to memory breaking the façade of the disguise. The emotions that had been written on his face during his outburst not even a minute prior, however, had been wiped clean as if they hadn’t existed in the first place. And yet in my mind’s eye I could still see the anxiety, backed by something even larger that I was not able to decipher.

When I had given him all I had he put his arm on my good shoulder. “I may be late back, Watson, but I hope you will wait up for me.” As was the case with the bulk of our disagreements, he seemed content to act as if it had not happened at all besides to let up on his disputatiousness somewhat.

“Of course, Holmes.” As if I could have done anything else. His face as he left - alone - stuck with me, his nod and then subsequent clap on the shoulder, as if that would mend things (to my further infuriation it did somewhat mollify me). He looked almost unwilling to go, but I conceded this was unlikely as my opinion could hardly be considered given my own bias. 

Whatever his true motivation for keeping me away was this time, I would not be privy to it until the end of the case, and even then maybe not. Forgiven him as I had, I had still not forgotten how he had allowed me to fall victim to the note on those dreadful Falls, turning me away in order to face the threat alone. And then letting me believe he was dead and gone for three long terrible, painful years, all for some reason that would only be revealed to me afterward when he returned to me in my consulting room only ten months prior. Try as it might, it had always seemed to me as a lack of trust.

Anger once again restored to its place beneath my left breast, I found my resolve and my revolver and set off behind Holmes, to regain my role once more as his protector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- you can thank my usage of "moustache" to ACD, who loved that spelling over the more subtle, smoother, _mustache_  
>  \- watson makes a reference to the "the love that dare not speak its name" quote from Lord Alfred Douglas’ poetry, that in the future through Oscar Wilde will made even more clearly to be a euphemism for homosexuality.  
> \- all flower definitions come abridged from http://thelanguageofflowers.com/ (and other google cross-referencing ofc)  
> \- Wilde v. Queensberry, or the ordeal when Oscar Wilde accused his boyfriend Lord Alfred Douglas' dad for libel for calling him gay. thats the nicest way of putting a very tragic trial.  
> \- holmes and watson's gay little _"You are not coming.” “Then you are not going!”_ exchange is lifted directly from the valley of fear by arthur fuckin conan fuckin doyle (wasn't sure where to put the emphasis)


	3. Amaryllis: Pride

Let it not be said that I am not aware of Holmes’ methods. While I would never flatter myself to be on his level of aptitude in every manner of deduction and investigation, I had in my years with him endeavored to pick up some skills, and thus when I found myself following the man himself I was not without an arsenal of knowledge. I trailed behind him at a significant distance, helped by the fact that I knew his destination and as such could take alternate avenues to avoid suspicion, as I knew he was equally adept at recognizing and then avoiding being followed.

When he reached the entrance I imagined he would have some difficulty. It was customary for patrons to have memorized some secret phrases to repeat before the doorman, but if they were regulars then they were often fortunate enough for Archie to recognize them. I had not given Holmes any secret phrase, not knowing it myself as I had not occasion to learn the new one in use, and as one of the aforementioned fortunate few Archie let through on sight alone.

However to my surprise, all it took was some scarce handful of words before Archie allowed him in with a jovial tone to his voice, although I was too far to make them out clearly. Holmes patted him on the back and let out a laugh that was clear and low and unlike his own before disappearing within. This raised questions I did not have the time nor the facts to answer.

After an allotted amount of time I felt sufficient, I put out the cigarette I had been discreetly smoking on the other side of the street and made my way to the entrance. Upon knocking the slot on the door gave way, and I saw Archie’s cool dark eyes and how they widened with recognition upon seeing me. 

“John Watson! Why it’s been quite some time, hasn't it! Some of the lads reckoned you’d done forgotten about us completely, especially when we heard the news about your fella returning from the dead and all.” He unlocked the door to let me in immediately, and I was able to see once again the age-hardened and kindly elderly man that guarded entry to this sanctuary of sorts.

I busied myself with the removal of my coat and hat to give myself time to answer. “Something like that I suppose, although it really isn’t like that exactly - he isn’t my fella, that is.”

“You ain’t foolin’ me, guv, I can read, can’t I? But I shan’t pry, no need to worry.” He winked at me before taking my coat and hat, and I had had to suppress a groan.

“Thank you, Archie.” I said politely instead, before entering inside as he let me pass. The whole of it encompassed many rooms intended for private purposes, and organized in a veritable maze, but for tonight I merely made my way to the main part of the establishment where there was a bar, music, and a comfortable atmosphere meant to enrich and relax. It was all just as I remembered it, and I was struck instantly by the sounds and smells and sights that had greeted me when I had been a more frequent visitor, and for a second was taken back to the state of mind that I had been in then - lonely, and desperate not to be so.

I have always been a sociable sort, which could be a blessing as well as a curse. I thrived on conversation, and while I did not have any when I had first moved back to London after my deployment I did have a select few friends outside of Holmes, and outside of the one I was in now I was a familiar face at my other, more reputable and conventional club. As I’d said before to Inspector Lestrade, I was largely an amiable person, and could be counted on to uphold entire dialogues with strangers when the task fell to me to handle a talkative client that Holmes refused to entertain. During the brief but also painfully long time in which both Holmes and Mary were lost to me, I had wasted away, unused to not having constant company.

Coming here had not satisfied that void either, for my real wish was to have someone to share a space with again, to share the paper with in the mornings, to go on walks with in the afternoons, and to smile at over our respective books in the evenings. While that did not seem possible to find in this environment (although I knew those that had found it here, I had no hope for myself, my heart belonging to someone I firmly believed to be at the bottom of some Swiss waterfall), here I was able to find conversation again, and could speak about my troubles unburdened by the lies society dictated I hid them with. And so I had in this sanctuary - revealed bits of myself and voiced emotions I had kept hidden for years, my feelings for Holmes the chief of it but also how lonely and bereft his loss had truly made me feel.

Only for that all now to be spoiled by some unforeseen threat that used my weakness against me, pulling me into danger and dragging Holmes down with me. Another reversal of roles.

My eyes sought out Holmes, spotting him finally near the bar. I found my way to a booth in the back while he was distracted, so as to afford me a clear view of the room at large and avoid detection, hoping he would not see me too soon and endanger us both somehow.

He was conversing with the barkeep, about something much more than just his drink order, and I observed him at work, his usual queer mannerisms heightened and enhanced in the character he played. I could not hear his words with the distance between, but from the side profile of his face could see that he was affecting an accent.

My view was suddenly hindered, however, by a gentleman’s upper half and when I looked up it was to see the easy grin of one Douglas Macnair, a face I had not seen in many months. I stood at once to greet him with a handshake. “Watson! Imagine my surprise at seeing you here tonight!”

I laughed, and gestured for him to sit with me. He had brought with him a round of drinks. “It has been quite some time, has it not?”

“Some ten months, almost to the day I would wager!” Macnair was almost exactly as I’d remembered him, a man of distinctly sharp features, dark hair at his shoulders, and piercing eyes that belied a large, jovial smile. He was a handsome sort, and while our relationship had never moved past some flirtatious talk, he had been witness and confidante to many of my breakdowns and I considered him a friend even in my evidently noticed absence.

“Yes, well, I have become somewhat busy once again and it has kept me from paying this old place a visit.”

“So I have heard! Busy is an understatement - I work at the paper, don’t forget. You are back to your old adventures once more, I take it?” grinned Macnair, with a glint in his eye.

“Something like that.” I agreed. “But enough of me, there really isn’t that much to it that you haven’t already seen in the press. Not much in the way of excitement going on at the moment.” I thought ironically back to the memory of the man lying dead in our sitting room, and forced myself to hide my shudder. Reminded once more about why I was here, I looked surreptitiously to the bar, but unfortunately Macnair unknowingly still blocked my vantage point of Holmes.

“There isn’t? One would think living once again with the great Sherlock Holmes would bring one excitement after the next!”

I shrugged, growing tired of this topic, but trying my best not to show it. Macnair had been privy to many of the details of how I had missed Holmes, and this prying was him merely checking in with me in a probably purposefully light tone. I ought to be grateful. “Well then I am sorry to disappoint you. Truly though, I know all about my own exploits, how are you, old chap?”

Macnair launched into some explanation of the current landscape of his office’s politics and a colleague who was clearly in the wrong. I did my best to listen intently, but I was still on a case, and I shifted slowly in my seat so I may once again seek Holmes in the crowd. From my new angle I could see that he had moved down the bar, now in conversation with a man I recognized by face alone.

When my eyes were drawn back to Macnair however, I realized he had noticed my lack of focus. He laughed before I had the chance to apologize, “It’s no worry, I was just rambling about people you do not know anyhow.” He then turned to follow where my gaze had been. “Ah Vernet’s back, that is a surprise. I thought we should never see his face here again.”

At that I stumbled slightly. “Vernet?”

Vernet was a surname Holmes had used often as an alias, taken from his own grandmother, so it was undoubtedly him that Macnair was referring to. That was not the source of confusion. It was how he had known to refer to him as such that was the mystery.

Macnair simply nodded. “William Vernet, I believe, yes. French fellow. He’s an alright gent, a bit fanciful for my taste, of course. I’m not sure you would know him actually, he was a regular patron before your time, although we all haven’t heard from him for some years now.”

“Really?” I could not help myself from asking. This particular club had a substantial but not large clientele base, and so it was not unusual for us to know bits of each other’s business, more so in Macnair’s case. A journalist as he was by day, the man never truly lost his habits and thrived on gossip like no one else I knew, barring of course, my own Holmes.

“Yes, it was all quite mysterious actually. He’d been coming less and less near the end of the decade, and Frank Longwood - did you ever meet him? He’s nearly engaged now, poor sod, remind me to tell you, it’s quite the rag, his mother has always been cheerfully insane but this took the cake - oh, where was I?”

“Mr. Vernet.”

“Ah yes, by ‘88 we’d written him off, to be quite honest, figured he had found someone on the outside, for he when he did visit he was distracted and not particularly _friendly_ , if you’ll pardon the innuendo,” I merely coughed, and indicated for Macnair to keep going, as the concept of Holmes being friendly in any sense was foreign, let alone in that intended notion, “but then it was as if a flip switched, and he was here all the time from then on.

“But that’s not all, Johnny! For as suddenly as his frequent visits started again, they abruptly stopped in ‘91, with no clear explanation, and not a word to any of us. There have been the theories in the rumor mill of course - I thought him dead, but Longwood said he’d left the country and gone back to France, presumably with the lover that’d broken his heart those years before. But Frank’s the dreamy sort. Maybe it is lucky he’s out of the picture, I would’ve been out ten pounds otherwise.”

Macnair laughed at his joke, and I did too to match his good humor, but my mind was racing with the onslaught of information that had just been given to me.

Holmes, albeit under a pseudonym, a frequent patron of the same club for the discerning Uranian gentlemen that I was - both of us unknowingly, and having just missed each other besides? I spared a thought that he might have been here for the same reasons he was tonight, for some fact finding mission, but dismissed it - he had been seen attending for far too long, and for what case? He had made it clear that he didn’t believe the activities that took place here to be a crime. No, Holmes seemed to be as much a denizen of this club as I was, absent as we both were until tonight, and I now retraced his steps through what Macnair has just told me.

1888\. That was the year I’d met Mary, and we’d agreed to our engagement. I had not told Holmes the details because I hadn’t wanted to betray Mary’s secret, and then he had vocally denounced me as abandoning him and we hadn’t seen much of each other until I was married and settled in Kensington and he requested my presence on a case and all was as usual again. If I was arrogant enough to consider that it was I who inspired his supposed bad temper, then the nights before we made up and I was not living with him had ostensibly been spent here. And then of course in 1891, with the rising threat of Moriarty, he was too busy covering his tracks to even begin considering partroning a compromising establishment such as this. By the time I had showed up for the first time in late 1893, it had been two years since he’d last stepped on our country’s soil, and so in that way we had passed each other like two ships in the night, or however the phrase had went.

“I was always aware that I’d always be playing second fiddle, but really, Johnny. If you’re that torn up about him why don’t I just introduce you?” Macnair pulled me out of my thoughts with a chuckle, though there was a hard line to his eyes and he was frowning somewhat. I realized I had been staring at Holmes’ back, and tried to smile apologetically, however, before the fog of my wonderings finally cleared and I caught his meaning.

I was too late with my protestations, unfortunately, for in that time Macnair had fully turned around in our booth, and called for the man Holmes was talking with, Abbott.

The both of them then came to join us, and I locked eyes with Holmes the second he spotted me. Resisting the urge to fold my tail between my legs I met his gaze head on, challenging him to react to my following him even as his eyes narrowed at me. He had to maintain character, and yet I knew that whatever happened now I would never be hearing the end of it later.

“Abbott, you know Watson, do you not? He’s an old friend of mine. I was just telling him about you actually, Mr. Vernet. You’ve been missed here.” Macnair put a familiar hand on my shoulder. Holmes’ keen eyes immediately set on it.

With lack of choice, I held out my hand. “John Watson. How do you do.”

Holmes took it, which brought me some strange relief, though his eyes were still indecipherable. When he spoke his voice was unrecognizable, and his accent French. “William Vernet, it is very nice to make your acquaintance.” And then to my surprise, he did not let go of my hand but leaned down and lifted it to his lips, so as to kiss it gently.

The spot he’s kissed burned when I retrieved my hand, and the fire traveled up my arm and stole into my chest.

Macnair cleared his throat, squeezing his hand - it was on my bad shoulder, unfortunately, and I had had to hide my wince. “So, you are back in England then I take it, Vernet?”

Holmes shook his head. “Yes, but only for a time. I am merely here on business, and thought I would stop and see some old friends while I had the chance.” He gestured to Abbott with his hand.

“How lucky for us. And what is your business again?”

“I am a linguist.” His eyes turned on me, twinkling. “It is _Dr._ Watson, is it not?”

“It is indeed.”

“Yes, you hold yourself with the air of a medical man, sir.”

Macnair clapped his hands together laughing, and my eyes finally broke away. “I had almost forgotten what you were like, Vernet, always perceptive. I should have known him to be your type, Watson!”

I averted my gaze from my friend, knowing that against my will the bright red tips of my ears were giving me away regardless. He would no doubt have figured out my untoward feelings toward him by then, if he had not already, and in the most embarrassing way possible. I inwardly cursed Macnair.

When I did chance a look up minutes later, Holmes made eye contact with me, and smiled in a fashion made familiar to me in instances such as when a policeman had said something particularly stupid about his methods, or a client said something that was obvious only to us. That smile spoke to me of our own world that existed completely away from the rest of existence, and to see it now in this instance enlivened me. I hesitated only a moment before returning the smile and joining him.

Macnair had once again returned to giving Holmes’ alias the third degree about his absence, and as the masterful actor that he was he took it in stride, answering in such a way that had I not known his real identity, I would undoubtedly have fallen for. When at last Abbott, who I guiltily realized had barely spoken a word all evening, finally made a motion to leave, William Vernet echoed him, and as we stood to make our goodbyes he once again brought my hand to his lips.

“Funny sort of fellow, isn’t he?” Macnair said as we watched them leave. I remarked that I did not know what he meant, and the man merely shrugged, though there was something in his eyes I had not seen before, and when he met my gaze it did not immediately leave.

“You’ll stay for one more drink, won’t you, Johnny?”

I yearned to immediately leave and track down Holmes, but I was aware of how it would look, and therefore merely nodded and acquiesced to the invitation, settling in.

I endured some twenty more minutes of chatter with Macnair, mainly spent on gossip about other club members that we had as mutual acquaintances, before I finally was able to extract myself, feigning exhaustion and an early start to my day tomorrow. He seemed almost reluctant to part with me, but did so with both hands clutching my right and with a promise that I would not leave him again for so long, as the others were merely a poor imitation of my company. I laughed with him and agreed, before paying my tab and making my escape, hoping to rush home quickly so as not to miss Holmes.

I need not have worried however, for as I exited there he was, standing by the very lamppost that I had smoked under while watching him enter hours previous. His eyebrows raised when he saw me, and he took a pull from his cigarette as I approached.

“Fancy seeing you here, Watson.” 

I had ammunition of my own, however. “I could say the same of you, _Vernet_.”

He rolled his eyes and threw his cigarette down before beginning the walk home, and I fell into step with him. “Yes, that rather was a revelation, was it not?”

“A revelation!” I repeated, astounded, “I’ll say!” Of all clubs in London!

“It’s no matter, there are more pressing things at hand that are of increased relevance. For instance, I believe I have solved our case.”

I wished to argue, but the surety in his tone and the quicksilver smile he slipped me prodded my curiosity, as was his intent. “Have you now?”

“I’m not sure how to break this to you without hurting your feelings, my dear Watson, though unfortunately I feel it is my duty to inform you. I believe the man we seek is none other than your lover, Douglas Macnair.”

“What? Macnair?” I stopped in my tracks, and then exclaimed a second later, “He is not my lover!” 

Holmes only chuckled, and did not stop walking on my account, so I had to hasten my pace to catch up. “I thought not, but not for lack of trying on his part.”

“We may have engaged in some,” I hesitated, “harmless flirtation, here and there, and I will admit that over the months we developed a closeness that means he was privy to many of my secrets by way of- dear God.”

Holmes appeared sympathetic. “He was inordinately protective of you, and cognizant of your every move, pointing to, I could not help but notice, an extreme feeling. He seemed to make overtly clear to William Vernet at least that he had laid his claim to you, and that I am not worthy.”

I looked down to my walking stick hitting the pavement as we walked, appalled. I had known Macnair had more attachment to me than I had to him, I was not completely blind, however I again believed it to be harmless. I would have thought that the extended knowledge of my grief and lost love for Holmes would have dissuaded him if anything. Even if he nevertheless persisted in his regard for me, could he really be behind such extreme and outrageous acts as these?

We finally reached a respectable enough street that I felt comfortable to call a cab, and we got in. I was eager to have this conversation at Baker Street instead of a London taxi, but I sought answers, so I merely asked Holmes to lay out his reasoning. He did so, but even I could tell he was curtailing some of his relish for my sake. “Currently the largest indications of his guilt are circumstantial, but they are certainly substantial enough to put him under great suspicion. He shares all the personal qualities we have agreed that the suspect possesses, as well as a decent motive. He matches the visual description that Mrs. Hudson was able to give us, with his strong jaw, shoulder-length hair, and defined nose. And there is likely an established connection between him and our victim last night, with their both being journalists - we need only to have the man identified and it will be clear that they knew each before and therefore he had the means to lure him to his death. Not to mention that he has been established to be a violent man in the past.”

“Violent?”

“Oh yes. You did not know him then, I would think, but before your becoming a member and evidently taking my place, Macnair had a reputation here for being rough and rather possessive, to the point of coming to blows on several occasions. His temper has cooled somewhat evidently, and many have believed him to have mellowed with age, but I can see that all it has done is distill that possessive streak further, and make him more volatile.”

“I did not know.”

“Of course you did not. He took great pains to hide it from you, as you were the target of his desire. Knowing you as he began to, and your dislike of rows and superfluous displays of anger, he had to have realized that all of this would have made him disagreeable to you at once, and so he endeavored to cover his tracks. Did he ever attempt to dissuade you from speaking to certain persons without adequate reason?”

“He- he did in fact, on two or three separate occasions that I can remember,” I swallowed. “What of the motive you mentioned? Surely it could not be jealousy alone that spurred his actions? That body found in the park before the one in our sitting room - how could he be pushed to that extreme?”

We had reached home, and I got out of the cab onto somewhat unsteady feet. Neither of us had had overmuch to drink at the club, however I could feel the effects of the alcohol all the same, and see it in the less than graceful fumbling of Holmes attempting to locate his keys in his ridiculous tailcoat on our front stoop. I was just about to offer my own when he found it and showed them off with a triumphant smile. I was reminded of him on our steps just the night before, when everything hadn’t yet gone wrong, and found that reconciling the two images was almost laughable. And yet how I felt for him then as I felt for him now, even changed as we both were by everything learned tonight!

As we stepped safely within 221B again (for it was safe still, Holmes and I would make sure of it), I felt the urge to focus on that instead, for it was a much more agreeable topic, but as always Holmes brought me back down to Earth.

“Cruel men know no true extremes, Watson.” He was answering my question from before. “I can only imagine that he felt slighted by your absence, and sought to gain back your attention in whatever sick fashion possible, having tired of waiting for your return. The murder in Hyde Park might have sufficed and been his only attack, if only it hadn’t escaped our notice by our being in the Derbyshire at the time.”

I poured us both some brandy from the sideboard before taking my own glass as I took an uneasy seat into my armchair, where the corpse yesterday had lay at my feet. “You mean to say if I had not gone with you then, then there would have been no reason for this second man to have died. Or if I had just gone back and visited him at the club once again, this all could have been avoided.”

“That is a flawed fallacy to fall into, my friend, and you should know better than to lay any fault on yourself. You are an equal victim here.”

It has always been somewhat of a treat for me to see Holmes remove his artful disguises, and this time was no different as I watched him remove those wretched sideburns and begin wiping his face free of the makeup that dramatized his features, becoming with each move more like the man I knew.

He continued his previous statement, unwavered by my gaze, sipping his drink. “The true blame in this matter falls solely at the feet of Macnair, for his jealousy and misguided attempts at vengeance leading to murder.”

“Why in this manner? What has he accomplished other than making me fear for my life? I do not see how this is an attractive way of courting someone!” I cried.

“Jealousy, Watson, as I said! He might believe that the strife that the murder caused you would be enough to jar you emotionally, and that as there is no way of finding comfort in your cool-minded companion, you may be pushed once again to need a confidante and return to the club to his nurturance once more. That is just one hypothesis for his actions, but I fear the envious brain is not often the most rational.”

“I will never understand him then, I suppose, for I have never truly understood jealousy, at least not in these affairs.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised.

I nodded. “Yes, I believe myself to be content and aware of my own worth in a person’s life, and therefore I can place a degree of trust in them to hold me at that position even with the introduction of interest from another person.”

“So you have never had occasion to be jealous? I suppose if not with your wife, then with previous dalliances?”

I shook my head, but made an effort to think back. The only occasions that I could call to mind were small, and barely worth remark, but I recounted them anyways. Times when for instance Hopkins became perhaps too comfortable in expressing his adoration for Holmes, or when a client batted her eyes at him in a way that did not speak of the grieving her manner of dress conveyed. “Little acts that bred some small annoyance,” said I, for otherwise they did not do much to ruffle my feathers as I was assured of my place at his side.

Too late I realized what Holmes most likely had already, that all my instances listed of being envious of someone in a romantic sense were over himself. If he noticed I could not tell, for he only nodded to himself as if this was information he had guessed at even as I flushed and looked away hastily, hoping he would not comment on it.

It was evident now to my eyes, judging by the mounds of evidence given to me today that pointed to the direction, not to mention his clear lack of need to defend himself from this assumption after the events of the Club. Holmes shared the same proclivities that I did, of being an invert. This had escaped my notice likely in the same way I had eluded him, but as I thought of how he spoke of the law’s feelings on the matter and his fairly easy acceptance of me, it began to take shape and I remembered several instances in our years together that benefited from this realization. To think we escaped each other’s notice for so long, and yet our business was detection!

Although this new information thrilled me - for now I could be freer in my home and in my friendship with him than I had hardly ever imagined to be before - it did not mean however that I could be optimistic, and could hope for him to return my feelings. His having the same bent that I did had no bearing on whether he would want engage in anything with anyone, celibate as he had presumably been these years, and let alone with me, who was his oldest platonic friend. It would not do to consider it or to dwell on it, and I only hoped that whatever he gleaned from my _faux pas_ , he would forgive me for, especially as we were on a case that exposed our dual natures so distinctly.

It was that last thought that sent a jolt of realization through me. “Holmes,” I gasped, “what of Lestrade? What explanation can we give now of events that do not implicate us as well?”

Holmes set down the damp cloth that took away the last vestiges of his guise. “That is the precise problem at hand. I am loath to bring Macnair forth to the authorities on that specific charge, not the least because of how he may implicate us in his downfall, but also as I would hate to be made a hypocrite and allow him to be at the hands of a law that I believe fundamentally to be unjust. Willful murder is his crime, and it is for murder that he must be charged!”

Here he became silent, and we both stared into the cold grate where we had yet to start a fire.

I finally broke it some minutes later, the not knowing getting to me. I could not see a possible way to prove Macnair’s guilt without telling the complete truth of our relations.

“But how?”

Holmes, as always, was leagues ahead of me in this respect as he was all others, and he spoke in that tone that often meant I would soon be involved in some small-scale criminal activity. “In order to do so, my dear Watson, I feel that we may have need to engage an accomplice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Uranian men, was a 19th century term that was often attributed to homosexual men at the time  
> no other notes, miraculously, isn't that fun!


	4. Violet (Blue): Faithfulness

Unluckily for me, that was all that Sherlock Holmes was willing to reveal that night, and I was instructed not to press the matter further while he thought of the intricacies of his next steps, taking a seat in his favorite armchair and picking his clay pipe in a brooding silence. I took it as my cue to bid him goodnight, lest I be poisoned by the air as well as his frustrated wit, and trudged up to my room with my thoughts percolating.

“Goodnight, Watson. Do try not to dwell.” My friend said, before he shut the door to the sitting room behind me.

It was just as well that he said so, as I was so exhausted by the day’s tribulations that I had barely undressed for bed and my head hit the pillow than I fell into a quick slumber.

It is not often that I dream when I sleep, but when I do they are of a vivid quality that is like accessing another plane of existence. This could be dire when my memories of the war and its aftermath intruded on them, but tonight they were kinder, and yet provided me with much to think about all the same.

I was in the main room of the Club once more, but this time it was completely empty of people, and all the chairs and tables had been cleared to the side. I looked around to see if there was any explanation, but I had barely begun to ask aloud if I was alone when I heard some noise behind me. Turning, I saw Holmes smiling with two wineglasses in hand, and one extended to me.

I took it, with no small amount of relief at seeing him, and drank whatever it was in the glass without tasting it, except to agnise that it refreshed me and felt like liquid gold entering my veins. When I finished, the glasses disappeared, or I had forgotten about them, and then Holmes waved his hand and led me by my left elbow to the center of the room, his touch gentle but firm and insistent as ever.

From somewhere I could not identify, as was the logic of dreams, some music began to play - a waltz of some sort. Holmes opened his arms to me and raised his eyebrows as if in invitation and I remember laughing, as my friend in real life loathed dances and balls of all sorts, mainly due to the unuseful mingling of strangers, and when he had been made to go he never once deigned to dance unless forced. Still, he looked at me challengingly now, as if daring me to call attention to this, and even in my dreams I was helpless not to agree and go along with him. I stepped into his arms, and felt them take warm purchase on my own, drawing me into his embrace.

I was more adept with my feet than I would have been had this been real. Holmes allowed me to lead at first, but I could tell that as it went on he was growing characteristically impatient, and we soon switched positions. The music slowly grew quicker, more akin to the Viennese style, but we moved regardless as if one body around the room, as if our feet need not even touch the floor. His face was close to mine in a way it had only been when we were forced into close chambers on some watch or another, or when he needed to whisper, and I did not dare to breathe for risking breaking the quiet and content tension between us just then.

Before I knew it, the music was ending. I could not tell how long we had danced for it felt timeless, and yet I was grieved to find it over so soon. We stood still as it swelled to a stop, in the closed position of the waltz, and then Holmes raised my hand where it was still clutched in his to his lips, like he had done as his French counterpart, and kissed it softly. Then, in a reverent tone that was both familiar and yet unknown to me, “I dare say we are finally nearing our time, my dear.”

His countenance was inscrutable, and yet his eyes were a deep grey ocean, so that I wished I could tilt his face with my hand, as to properly see into those depths. It was as I was lifting my hand to do so that it all began to turn into water, and then to fade, and all at once I was awake, and blinking up at my ceiling and breathing as if I had just been running.

When I finally did go downstairs, hours later, those words still dwelled in my mind but I felt refreshed enough to confront whatever new turns this case of mine would take. Holmes was sitting at the table before breakfast rifling through the correspondence in his dressing gown, and I was heartened to see that while he may have gone to bed at some ungodly hour he had still managed some measure of rest.

“Good morning, Watson,” he greeted as I took my seat opposite him, “do you have any engagements for today?”

He was asking to be polite and as a precursor for some request or announcement, for we both knew that I wasn’t to leave the house for the duration of this particular case for the danger Macnair presented. Even then, I had not much cause to leave, for I had sold my practice when moving back to Baker Street (to a man I knew now without a doubt to be some relation of Holmes’), and what patients I had kept had no appointments this week as I had believed there was a chance I would still be in the country.

“No, I do not believe so,” said I, rather than mention any of this.

“Perfect, as I plan to bring about the end to this wretched business tonight, and I will need your instrumental presence there for the events to play out accordingly. Very soon we will be entertaining someone who is to serve in the little scheme I have constructed.”

“You have found our accomplice then?” I referred to his wording last night, and he nodded knowingly.

“Quite so. I fear he will need some bringing up to speed first, however.”

Right on cue, the bell rang downstairs. I rose from my seat and looked to Holmes, who did not move but merely sipped at his coffee. His eyebrows raised, a challenge just like in my dream, and I frowned but accepted, descending the seventeen steps.

Mrs. Hudson was poised in front of the door when I arrived, and looked at me questioningly. We had asked her to kindly not answer the door to anyone but Billy and the maid for the next few days, but she was never one to stand quietly at the sign of danger. I gave her a small smile, and tried not to show her my own trepidation, before opening the door.

On our step was the fellow that had been in conversation with myself, Holmes, and Macnair last night, one James Abbott, to my knowledge. He looked nervous, his eyes flitting between me and Mrs. Hudson behind me with some bemusement, and he held up a note. “I was instructed to come here at 10 this morning, and call on Mr. Vernet?”

“Ah. Well, you have come to the right place, but I believe some explanation will be in order. Come in.”

I allowed Abbott to precede me up the stairs. He was a younger man, some ten years my junior I estimated, and if I was not mistaken in Holmes’ intent, could be seen to have some resemblance to me when I had first moved back to London - blonde with blue eyes, and thin but sturdy, albeit lighterskinned than I had been then.

Holmes was at the window when we entered the room, and he smiled broadly. “Come in, good morning, Abbott. Oh!, and you’ve been good enough to have visited the barber’s already! Well done.”

Abbott looked around, still bemused. I noticed that his handsome beard had in fact now been cut down to merely a recognizable mustache and some short, sharp sideburns. “I’m sorry, I thought I was here to meet an acquaintance, William Vernet- but you are Sherlock Holmes. are you not?”

Holmes dittered, standing. “Yes well, there are certain nuances I was not able to convey to you last night. William Vernet, I am sorry to say, is an invention of my own and merely a disguise. We are one and the same, and so it was actually I who asked you to meet here today.”

This stunned Abbott, and I gestured for him to take a seat, which he did even as his eyes never left Holmes. “Wow! I can see it now, but your demeanor and your accent was completely changed, then! You are very talented, indeed Mr. Ver- sorry, Mr. Holmes!”

He demurred at the praise, pleased, and I felt that sprig of small annoyance. “Be that as it may, I have called you here, Mr. Abbott, to ask you no small favor.”

“If I can be of assistance?”

Holmes’ left eyebrow quirked, and he glanced at me with some amusement before focusing once more. “We are investigating a murder presently, that has recently had a more personal turn of events. In fact, I fear that although it was done quite unconsciously, I have brought you to our suspect’s attention last night.”

“Me?” Abbott yelped.

“Yes, and as such I may have already ushered you into some danger. Therefore it is my responsibility to escort you clear of it.”

“Who is it? Do I know him? Am I safe?”

Holmes took a seat, putting out his hands. “Of course, of course! You are quite safe as long as you are with us, and you follow my instructions. As for the identity of the suspect - I believe you are to some degree acquainted with Douglas Macnair?”

“Macnair?” Abbott gasped, “No, no, that can’t be possible!”

“Do you know him well?” I asked.

“Not as such, no,” Abbott admitted, twisting his hands, “but it still comes as a great shock!”

“Undoubtedly so, but as I have said to Watson here on many an occasion: people carry with them dark and unknowable depths. In the case of Macnair however, it is already known to me that he is a violent and disagreeable man who could easily be pushed to these lengths, and so it is up to us to bring this information to light.”

“But how am I to help?”

“I am sorry, Abbott, but as I cannot do it myself and I see no other alternative - you are to act as our bait.”

“Bait?” Abbott repeated in a higher octave, just as I did the same.

“Holmes, you cannot be serious!” I exclaimed.

He merely shrugged. “As I said, this is our simplest strategy. Abbott has already been introduced to Macnair’s line of vision, by taking him in as our confederate we can then control events to our liking.”

“And what of the danger you suppose to put this young man in!”

“Watson, his main method of murder thus far has been poison, so I am sure we will have ample time to step in should it get dangerous in earnest. It is not like a shooting - in order for us to catch him in the act we must have staged everything so as to make his involvement irrefutable.”

“But Holmes, he-” I looked to Abbott, suddenly aware that he was still present and watching us argue about his involvement as if it were something more trivial than his life being at stake. I spoke to him instead, “Are you certain you wish to be a part of this, Mr. Abbott?”

The younger gentleman considered it for one long minute, before nodding gamely. “Yes. I want to help in what way I can. Besides, it is as Mr. Holmes said, I am already involved in some way if he took attention of me last night.”

“Very well.” I retired any further objections. I already had reason to have recognized the keen excitement and curiosity in Abbott’s eyes.

“Excellent.” Holmes clapped his hands together, standing to begin pacing. “Now, here is the sequence of events as I have devised them.

“You will, if I have accurately predicted his behavior, send word to Macnair today, by afternoon at the latest, asking to meet and discuss some matter or other, it is not important, but it must seem vaguely intriguing, and suitably remind him of your existence, as well as our friend Dr. Watson mentioned in conjunction. What is important is that you will want to meet at the club, somewhat earlier than when we had all met yesterday night, at 7:30pm. He will already have planned to be there around that time, predicting that Watson will be making a repeat visit - a prediction we will of course aim to validate, and then the three of you will make the journey to our secondary location. Your role, Mr. Abbott, will be chief in giving Macnair the idea for his next murder.”

We then sent Abbott away, with some other instructions and a warning to stay vigilant. Then Holmes and I were off as well, to tail Macnair and take note of the details that made his murders predetermined. Before we could do so, however, he went to the drawers that held his records, rifling through papers to find something in a way that made me inwardly groan at the future cleanup.

“Our first course of action, of course, is to find his home address.”

“Oh, I know it already,” said I, surprising him, as he stopped in his tracks.

He straightened, his expression suddenly somewhat shrewd. “You have been there before?”

“Yes, one night, on an occasion I had reason to visit.”

Holmes closed his drawer abruptly, and walked past me to the door. “Good,” he said, stiffly, “then you may lead the way.”

I was confused at his sudden change in tone, but followed him regardless, just barely remembering to grab my favored bowler hat on the way out. By the time I had caught up with him he was in the street, having called a cab. It was not a far walk, and I enjoyed walking at any rate especially in the temperate if cloudy weather we were having, but it was still February and there was a chill in the air that aggravated my old injury, as I was sure that Holmes had taken note of.

As such, I was feeling rather more kindly to him than he most likely deserved for his reaction, so after giving the address to the driver and we had both settled in our seats, I asked him. “Would you want to know the reason behind my late visit?”

He made a noise like a scoff, staring resolutely through the window and not at me. “It is your business, Watson, and not mine to pry.”

“I would argue that your entire business is built on prying.”

He gave me a look, and my mirth died down. “What I mean to say is, Holmes. If you wish to know the circumstances, you need only ask.”

“Why then, have you needed to call upon Macnair at night, if you have said that you were not lovers or anything of the kind?” Holmes aired his question all in one stream, thundering ahead as if he did not want to think too hard about the consequences. Again I bit back a kind of smile.

“There have been only two occasions that I had reason to be in Macnair’s home, and the latter was so memorable in its shamefulness that I remembered the address when I made the walk home the next morning.”

Holmes’ eyes widened, and I shook my head. “It is indeed nothing of the kind that you suggest, but embarrassing to me nonetheless. I merely overindulged in spirits at the club, overcome as I was in those initial days of grief, and was in no state to make my own way home. Macnair as my companion at the time thus brought me to his as it was closer than my Kensington apartments, so that I may sleep off my drunkenness on his sofa until morning brought with it sobriety.”

“Watson-”

I placed a hand on his knee so as to halt him and keep speaking, before looking out the carriage window rather than at him. “Those months without you or my wife were dark indeed. I had no true friend left, as Mary’s lover too had emigrated to America to escape her own grief, and it was in this vulnerability that Macnair was able to secure my friendship. I am not blind, I knew then that he had something to hide and was not nearly as genial as he claimed, but I have always believed, perhaps naively, that a man’s past is its own country and that he had had a right to his secrets as I did to mine. Even as my secrets ceased to be so.

“I am not averse to alcohol but I am aware of its effects on me, and you and I are both aware of my brother’s fate. Still however, my grief pushed me to a point that on that occasion, my safety was completely in Douglas Macnair’s hands.”

I faced Holmes, who looked to me with some indecipherable expression, but that burned me to the core nevertheless. “Then I have one reason, I suppose, to be grateful for that wretched man’s existence.”

“Just the one.” I agreed, giving him a small smile back.

We got out some streets away from Macnair’s townhouse residence, and walked the rest of the way. Holmes used this time to bring me up to speed on some other particulars that he had gathered from the man’s person. He stopped our walking all of a sudden, and we swept to the side as he pulled out his cigarette case, handing me his walking stick and gesturing for me to face away from the street, continuing his observations.

“He is not a very religious man, however he does attend church. It wars somewhat with his view of his own inversion, but attending weekly every Sunday was a habit instilled in him by his father, and he has enough guilt that he has kept it up even after his death, and still knows much of the scriptures by heart.”

“How on earth could you know that?” I asked, bewildered. Even all these years later, his deductions could seem more like divination to me.

He smiled at me over the cigarette in his mouth, before quirking his head. I looked in the direction he indicated, to a church across the street, where to my surprise our own Douglas Macnair was exiting, shaking hands with the priest in thanks for the service.

I must have made a noise at his luck, for he laughed sharply before nudging me so that we may continue walking, now with an eye on Macnair.

The man himself was making his way back home now, and we trailed after him carefully even as a light drizzle began and his pace quickened. We kept him in sight until he finally disappeared up the steps of his townhouse, and only then did we have a chance to take shelter from the ensuing downpour ourselves, ducking into the closest storefront.

I removed my hat to brush some of the wetness off, cursing myself for having forgotten to bring an umbrella, when Holmes chuckled. “Well, Watson, I suppose we have found our connection to the floriography.” And he gestured around us.

For the shop we had chosen at random to hide away from the rain was in fact a florist, surrounded as we now were by flowers of all kinds. The scents and colors hit me at once as I looked around, and I laughed in realization. “Why, and we are barely across the street from Macnair’s!”

Holmes beckoned me further into the shop, and we facilitated a meeting with the shopkeeper, a stout, but pink-faced and lovely woman who greeted us cheerily. “What can I interest you gentlemen in? Is it a special occasion?”

My friend smiled in a way that indicated to me that he would be at his most charming. “Actually, madam, we were hoping you could do us a favor instead? All we need is some questions answered - they are quite innocuous, I assure you.”

“Very well,” the woman agreed, but her cheery countenance dimmed somewhat. “Is it to do with the quality of the flowers?”

“Oh no. No, from what we have observed your flowers are marvelous, we have no complaints there. It is your supply of these flowers that we are most concerned with. Do you buy these wholesale, or grow them yourselves?”

“A mixture of both, sir, we grow what we can, but anything that we cannot we buy from our supplier.”

“This may be an odd request,” Holmes tilted his head so as to seem somewhat reluctant, glancing at me before his eyes were on the florist once more, “but do you happen to carry violets? Specifically speaking, blue violets?”

The woman’s expression lit up with some surprise, “You know, sir, as you are not the first of our customers to favor that flower, somewhat rare as it can be, we happen to have quite a good deal of it in stock. It is of a good significance - faithfulness and dedication.”

“Oh? What can you tell me of this other customer? If he is anything like me and helplessly attempting to construct a bouquet for my rather fastidious beau that abides by this tricky language of flowers, I may take note of his other choices.” Holmes was laying it on rather thick I thought, but I admired his ability to know just how to make people more forthcoming with their information.

“I do not know, sir, for his choices thus far have been as specific as they are strange, and yet he has repeated them every time. If I had not made the assumption that his sweetheart must not understand the true meanings and just prefers petunias, angry as they make other recipients, I would have thought him strange indeed. As it is, I would not recommend you follow his lead.”

“Interesting.” 

“Thank you for your assistance.” I told her.

“Of course. Would the either of you gentlemen be interested in making a purchase yourselves, sirs?” The florist asked keenly, and I could see that while she was attempting to hide her disgruntlement at being questioned, we had reached the end of our time with her.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, to my surprise, before explaining privately to me, “for Mrs. Hudson. She has been much tried these past few days out of worry for you, and the hidden meanings should escape her in any case.”

The shopkeeper went off to fulfill his order, leaving us alone for me to smile and say, “It is actions like this one that save her from throwing us out entirely.”

Holmes laughed. “Yes, I believe I may have bought us some few weeks of peace.”

Before we knew it, the florist was back, to show us a small sample of what the nosegay delivered to Baker Street would look like. It was made up wholly of blue violets, and it passed inspection. Holmes agreed and paid, but not before asking if he may take one flower from the bunch, which he did once he was allowed.

We walked out of the shop, the rain having come to a final stop, and the light still in Macnair’s window. The two of us stood nearby to a fairly soggy paperboy, Holmes still twirling the stem of the flower between his fingers when I asked him why he had done so.

“It is interesting to me, the dual purpose that this language of the flowers pushes onto these tokens. This blue violet for instance, speaks to the florist of faithfulness and dedication to one’s lover, positive behaviors, while on the other hand our suspect has weaponized them to indicate that your movements have been catalogued and surveilled and thus disrupting your sense of security. And then you have those like our Mrs. Hudson, who simply believe that they share the traits that every flower possesses: beauty and a display of Providence’s simple kindness.”

“And what do you believe of flowers, my dear Holmes?”

“I believe,” here Holmes paused. “I belong to this third camp. I believe that flowers for simplicity’s sake may remain flowers, and that they may be given and displayed just due to their being something the eyes feel easier resting on, and not a sign of a hidden agenda. To construct this intricate language around them has taken away from that simplicity.”

And then he extended the flower to me. “I grow tired of holding this, Watson, and we still have much to do today. Would you hold onto this, or perhaps place it within your buttonhole?”

I was taken aback, but acquiesced at once, “Of course, Holmes.”

He gave the tucked flower a peculiar look before raising his eyes to mine, a small smile in its beginning stages upon his lips. “And what meaning would you yourself ascribe to the flower now?

I did not look away. “Faithfulness and consistency as you said, but mostly of course, it is rather pretty.”

His smile bloomed to full fledged at my answer, and he linked arms with me for the rest of our walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- abbott's line is reminiscent of watson's own "can i be of assistance?" from the adventure of the speckled band. but i was hearing granada david burke's voice so i messed with it to match :)


	5. Hyacinth (Yellow): Jealousy

We took a small break for luncheon at a restaurant on the same street corner with a vantage point from the window seating, for Holmes claimed they did remarkable things with oysters even as he ordered nothing but coffee, before resuming once again our surveillance of Macnair’s home. He had not left, and I was beginning to question what it was we were waiting to happen when a man knocked on his door to deliver a telegram.

“Abbott’s request,” Holmes confirmed for me.

Ten minutes later, Macnair came outside, and made the journey to the florist’s shop that we had just been in. We watched as he exited with a familiar bouquet some further minutes later, his face grim yet determined in a way that was unfamiliar to me, and set a chill down my spine.

Holmes clapped my good shoulder. “Aha! See, Watson, how we have just secured our evidence! Come, next we must see where he supplies his poison, and then we may begin the final preparations in earnest.”

If we were expecting anything elaborate however, we were disappointed, Holmes most of all. It seems that all it had taken Macnair to become a serial murderer was the patronage of a florist and a chemist, and the luck that the target of his malevolence had one of the most average and common faces in all of London.

Holmes slumped slightly, from where we were leaning against the wall of an alley observing Macnair walking away merrily, poison in hand. His mood was very different from our last discovery. “Sometimes it depresses me, Watson, that the criminal mind of London does not need too large of an imagination to exact evil upon its populace.”

“It was a rather mundane turn of events, wasn’t it?”

“Hopefully tonight will differ in its level of excitement,” Holmes said, straightening and his eyes taking on a familiar gleam, the thought of peril restoring him. “Now here is where we part for the afternoon, dear fellow, for you to further build our puzzle and for me to keep our prey entertained.”

He was speaking, of course, of how Macnair would no doubt be heading to resume his watch over Baker Street now that he had plans of his own for me, for that was the direction he had set off toward. “And how do you propose to do that, Holmes? Or did you also commission another waxwork bust when you returned to London last year?” I asked only half-jokingly, referring to the decoy of himself he had used in the capture of that villain Col. Sebastian Moran.

He did not dignify that with a response, though I could tell he shared in my mirth nonetheless from the slight quirk in his lip and the touch of color on his sallow cheeks.

“I trust you know your instructions?”

I nodded, and hoped my face accurately depicted my readiness. He went to touch my hand, before thinking better of his action and retrieving it. “Then I shall see you at our quarters soon. Stay safe, Watson.”

“And you as well, Holmes.”

I watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner and out of sight, not once turning back, before I set off on my own task. I went to the telegraph office before sending a short dispatch off to Macnair, ensuring his movements were where we wanted them:

DINNER AT MINE TONIGHT STOP MEET AT CLUB AT EIGHT IF INTERESTED STOP J WATSON FINAL STOP

Having done my duty, I then bought a paper off of one of the boys standing on the street and hid myself away at the nearest park, where I wiled away my time until the game would once again be afoot. When I reached, I found a bench and tried to focus in order to read, but my thoughts kept being pulled back to Holmes, and the flower that now resided tucked into my coat. Sentimentality, as he had always asserted, could in fact get in the way of critical thought, but I could never truly will myself to be rid of it as he did.

I did not fully understand the purpose of our separation, I will admit, but as usual I trusted Holmes’ intentions, and that whatever he was doing on his own end, we were working toward the same goal. As tedious as spending those few hours were, I managed nonetheless, and it was as if no time had passed when I was suddenly being tapped on the shoulder by one of the street urchins Holmes employed as his “Irregulars”, looking quite insistent. I sized the boy as being around eight years of age, and smiled at him genially.

If I was not mistaken, I recognized this particular boy. “Dawson, is it not?”

“Yes, sir! Basil Dawson!” He grinned through missing teeth, seemingly delighted at my correct identification. “I’ve been asked to deliver a message to you, sir!”

Dawson was rather excitable, and I needed not bother asking how he and his ilk had tracked me down here when I hadn’t once mentioned my location to Holmes. “What is it then?”

“Mister Holmes said to say ‘stay on course’.” Dawson recited proudly. “‘Nd I’m to give you this, sir,” and he pulled out a small piece of torn paper from his pocket. The note was in Holmes’ penchant scrambling yet elegant handwriting, and read as follows:

> _M has been at the lamppost opposite your desk window since I beat him here, and has only just left so as to meet Abbott, taking his materials with him. I have been reading up on M, and making inquiries where I can without raising suspicion. Brother Mycroft upon my request has pulled up quite the repertoire on him that was hidden from my eyes but available by way of his own more substantial network - M has many outstanding debts due to a particularly foul gambling habit, one substantial enough to bring about his downfall. It is the reasoning behind as much of his brawls and assaults as his own jealousy. He has been saved however, by his dubious journalistic integrity as well as due to debts and discoveries he has over certain policemen and public figures that he threatens to leak to the press with ease seeing as he is the press. It is how he operates in such freedom. Good luck at the club, I trust and hope your acting skills have matured since I last had reason to see them. I expect to see you at home at half past 8 at the latest. — H_

I smiled at his demand, and was intrigued by all he had discovered, and what it meant for the final confrontation to be had tonight. I took out a coin for the boy, who was looking at me expectantly while trying and failing to stand still before me.

I gave him the coin. “You may report back to Mr. Holmes that I received his message, and tell him this. ‘I am leaving for the club now, and that I will return to him at my earliest convenience’. Can you do that for me, Dawson?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy nodded, his grin gone and replaced with a very determined expression that threatened to make me laugh.

“Take what precautions you must, and after you have completed your task you may ask Mrs. Hudson for some small pastry, telling her that Dr. Watson has said it was alright.”

She would have my head for that, but I had the advantage of knowing that she had no small fondness for the Irregulars, complain as she will at the sight of them, and that she would have given him something regardless if I had not asked. Dawson was as fearful of her as the rest of the boys were however, and his eyes widened with awe and his toothy grin returned at my saying so. “Wow! Thanks, Doctor!”

I merely laughed before sending him on his way, rising myself from the bench to call a cab and set off for my club, where I had a pressing engagement to arrange. I was filled with nerves, but steeled myself, thinking of the faith my friend had put into me.

When I arrived Archie let me through with minimal fuss, and I found Macnair at the bar of the main room, in conversation with a thankfully still alive Abbott, who greeted me with relief and gratitude in his eyes. He had held his own against a man that he knew intended to murder him for use as a pawn, and for that he had my utmost respect. Macnair’s bouquet of flowers were laid on the bar in front of them, his bag from the chemist hidden, and I was glad I had arrived in time to relieve him of his post. Macnair’s eyes immediately went to the flower in my buttonhole, and I cursed my oversight but was relieved to see he made no mention of it.

Speaking to Macnair now knowing all the things he had done was like seeing a completely new man. His appearance had not changed at all from the previous night, but it was in the little details that he now seemed changed, as his every action took new meaning so as to seem more vile and menacing. The way he immediately aimed to gain physical proximity from me, regardless of my comfort; his constant watch of reaction to his words; or his catalogue of everything I had ever revealed to him, regurgitated to me like proof. All these now were seen in a different light and seemed to be tinged with his sinister claim on me, and I both felt disgusted and mournful that I had considered him a close friend. I realized then that he did not know me, but merely my specific traumas, and had confused them to be one and the same. 

Still, I acted as planned, and was benign and unassuming as ever, inviting him to supper at Baker Street, and so as not to seem remiss, extended the invitation to Abbott as well. As if I had now been trained to look for it, I noticed the twitch in Macnair’s forehead at this, as if the poor fellow had somehow done something to him by merely being present.

“Yes, of course, if you can spare an extra seat at the table, Johnny, you should absolutely come, Abbott. After all, I would hate to face the great Sherlock Holmes alone!” Although he was grinning, the way he bit out my friend’s name now spoke volumes to me, and I understood with further resolve why I had been instructed to say the next bit.

“Oh no, Holmes won’t be joining us unfortunately, he’s indisposed this evening.”

“Oh? Hounding after some criminal is he? And on his own?”

I made myself chuckle. “I believe so, he did not give me all the details, and claimed it was a solitary mission.”

“He tends to do that, doesn’t he?” Macnair’s grin had become much larger. “His loss then! Of course we shall come then, it will be a treat to call upon you.”

We all stood up then to leave, but Abbott spoke up before we could go far. “Mr. Macnair! You seem to have forgotten your nosegay.”

Macnair’s eyes went to the flowers in the other man’s hand, seeming as if he’d forgotten them completely. “Funny that! Thank you, lad.” He took them gently but reluctantly off of Abbott, before raising his gaze to me, almost searchingly.

Whatever it was, he was heartened not to find it, and simply smiled before leading the way out the door.

The carriage ride passed quickly, as I was deep in my thoughts while also trying to appear nonchalant to my company, who passed idle conversation between the two of them, more gossip from the sounds of it. Macnair kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn’t noticing, and all I could do was give him my most unaffected and reassuring smile, even as I felt affected and the furthest thing from reassured. Indeed, I did not feel I would be until Holmes was once again in sight and by my side.

Thankfully, Baker Street came along in good time, and we three exited the cab, Macnair’s hand on my elbow easing my dismount. I let us in and up the stairs, but Mrs. Hudson greeted us before we entered the apartment and I saw her eyes widen at seeing Macnair, another confirmation of our suspicion. Still as I have said time and time again, the woman possesses a backbone of steel, and did not flinch before asking to take our coats and hats, and to tell us that dinner would be up with a ring of the bell. I thanked her with a touch of her hand, and she smiled steadily, inaudibly telling me to be careful.

I opened the door to an empty sitting room, but the small fire in the grate told me that I was not alone, even as the door to Holmes’ room appeared shut. I led my companions to take seats, sitting in my own chair and Abbott taking the settee. Macnair chose Holmes’ armchair, and I felt the wrongness snarl in my gut.

“It is very nice to have finally made it down here, Johnny, especially since you’ve already had more than enough occasion to see my place.”

I flushed somewhat at that, and to my horror Abbott took that to make an erroneous assumption, “Oh! Were you- are you two-”

I shook my head, but Macnair beat me to it. “No, no, nothing like that, lad. Although believe me, it was not for lack of trying.”

“Macnair!” I said, shocked that he would admit to it so easily.

“What! There’s no use in pretending otherwise! It would hardly do to _lie_ to young Abbott here, wouldn’t it?”

Abbott stammered, but Macnair had not nearly finished.

“Besides, Johnny, you had to have known. I have been ever so obvious, after all. If only it weren’t for that small fact that I operated within the great shadow that is your real love.”

“Stop.” I told him to no avail, as he merely chuckled, sitting up at the edge of the chair to pontificate, his grin back on his face but now unbidden in its sinister quality.

“You know it, admit to it! My affections could hardly penetrate that steep boundary that you had constructed around your heart, reserving it for someone who you had believed had betrayed you by _dying_.”

“Macnair-” I warned, standing to my feet in anger, but was cut off.

“Of course, I was foolish enough to believe I had a chance then, because surely, once we got past your grieving period you would come to see that he was merely a man like any other, smart yet selfish and bound to disappoint. Your hero worship of him could then cease and you would finally see the specimen you had in front of you, at your very beck and call!

“To gain your trust, that is chiefly why I endured so much blabbering - of course I believed I was at least entitled therefore, to the final product! Night after night of listening to, ‘ _oh I hate dreaming of him because it hurts, but also at least then I get to see his beloved face once again’_ and other melodramatic ramblings - I deserve a medal, if anything, for my patience at your pathetic warbling!

“And then of course,” Macnair stood too, and gestured to the room. “And then he returned, the astonishing and awe-inspiring detective, not dead for all that you had mourned him, and you in turn returned to his side without a thought to me. Me, who had just spent the better part of a year gaining your trust and putting the work in to find my way into your confidence. Months of my life that were now proved to be _wasted_! Of course I was angry enough to seek some sort of retribution!

“That is why I am here, is it not, Mr. Holmes?” Macnair ended, his gaze trained on Holmes’ door which swung open at once, revealing my friend behind it, his expression speaking of blazing anger.

Be that as it may, his voice was made of ice when he spoke. “However did you realize, Mr. Macnair?”

The villain before me let out a dark laugh. “Layman that I may be, it was simple. Your coat and hat still on the stand, the fire already lit when we entered. Not to mention the shock sent through me at having received an invitation to dine with one John Watson, one that had not been extended to me in all the months of our closest acquaintance but suddenly appeared now, on the heels of my largest foray into criminality.” His stare turned to me. “It was all very _elementary_.”

Holmes strode into the sitting room, thundering his way in between me and the other man. “So then you admit to your actions? It was you who were behind the deaths of those men.”

Macnair spun, and arrogantly sank back into Holmes’ armchair. “I could hardly comment on that, could I? You are a tricky man, Mr. Holmes, and I have had no better source to that fact. I do not see what I could possibly stand to gain from my admittance.”

“There is nothing to gain, Macnair, but repentance!” I bit out angrily.

“That is where I think you are wrong, Johnny, though I am pleased to hear your voice chime in. You are certain of my guilt then?”

“Abundantly certain.”

“Ah, well. That’s that ship sailed then. Still it bears asking, why exactly do you think your Mr. Holmes is so insistent upon my confessing to the murders? Why not take me off in irons now?”

I said nothing, but looked to Holmes, whose face was dangerously impassive with his eyes unmoving off of Macnair.

“I will give you a hint, my dear Watson.” My heart clenched at his specific word usage, and I regretted for the umpteenth time the amount to which I had let this vile man into my confidence. “There is no police presence joining us here tonight, nor will there be. For to bring me forward to the police without confession would bear the great and wisely foreseen risk that I would be brought to trial, giving me the chance to expose you and your own criminal state. And murderer or not, Johnny, I assure you that the law will not look more favorably upon you than it will on me. That is exactly what your precious detective fears, in the end. The law.”

Holmes met his eyes with his own steely gaze, before unexpectedly, his shoulders dropped. He looked to the floor, and to my surprise, he took his eyes off Macnair to turn to me and put a hand on my arm. “He is right. I would not risk calling on the police, not if it endangered you.”

“But- but, Holmes, surely there is some way-“

He raised a hand, stopping my protests. I did not know what I would say anyway. He turned back to Macnair. “I have no way of stopping your actions through legal means, nor can I let you go however. So then may I ask, if you knew then that Watson would be leading you to me, why come at all?”

Macnair chuckled. “I wanted to see if he could do it! And what his reaction would be to seeing his great magnificent detective backed into a corner when it mattered most, how you failed to protect him.

“And of course, so I get some use after all, out of _this_.” Out of his coat pocket he pulled the vial we had seen him purchase from the chemist, appearing now unconcerned with keeping his true nature hidden.

“Arsenic.” Holmes said.

“Indeed! I am pleased to see we are on the same page.”

“You aim to administer some on me? I cannot but hope to express to you that I will resist.”

“I am sure you would, Mr. Holmes! Which is why for simplicity’s sake I will have you administer it to yourself.”

“As you did those poor two men. And how do you intend to make me do that?”

Macnair shrugged, before pulling out of his other left pocket a revolver, and then calmly pointing it at Holmes. I stiffened sharply, scared to make a move, and Macnair took note of it with a sinister curl to his lip.

Holmes, on the other hand, shrugged at being held at gunpoint. “I have died before, Macnair, and in all that time I have had time to think about how I would prefer to go when the end does come for me, as it does for us all. Neither gunshot wounds or arsenic are at the top of the list, I’m afraid, so I have no preference if this is what it comes down to. However if you are inclined, I do have a suggestion that would make this much more interesting.”

Macnair laughed. “And what is that?”

“A pact, of sorts. You have said it yourself: I am not worthy of Watson, and that alone is reason for me to die tonight. However, what is your alternative? I doubt he will go with you now regardless of whether I meet my end here tonight, and while you have gone to great lengths to prove that he is irreplaceable it is evident that he is not, and that you are. So therefore, my suggestion is this. We leave it to fate’s hands, and both consume your poison.”

“What?”

“It falls in with the concept of _russkaya ruletka_ , or as it may be translated: the Russian Roulette, if you are familiar with it.”

“A history lesson in the middle of what should be a murder - you are just as unique as your Watson claims.”

Holmes’ eyes flashed. “There is a slim but real chance of surviving, if fate determines it so. Are you interested?”

Macnair lowered his gun slightly, frowning. His _particularly foul gambling habit_ \- Holmes had written in his note. Men like that, as I knew from personal experience, were helpless to resist the concept of chance. “Perhaps. What are the terms?”

“In the story that the term originated from, the men use a loaded pistol that is passed around on turns, to test the theory of predestination and their own courage. We may use your arsenic that you have so kindly provided instead, and reduce the mess my poor landlady will be tasked with afterward. Arsenic is not always deadly, although swift, and survival is a matter of dosage. Whoever does in fact win out is treated to a new lease on life, and the prize.”

“Which is?”

Holmes’ eyes went to mine, and I saw something like regret form behind his resolve. “There is no greater one like it. John Watson’s heart.”

Macnair laughed loudly, though he uncocked his gun, bringing me some relief. Abbott, who had been sitting frozen on the settee observing the events and escaping notice, relaxed slightly himself.

“And what the devil does that do for me then?”

“It is what you wanted is it not? Watson as your companion for life - a concept I agree is most desirable, as I have cherished in it myself. You would be the luckiest man in the world to have him by your side.”

“But you have said it yourself, now that he knows what I am done and what I am capable of, there is no conceivable way that will work! Who is to say he will agree?”

“I am.” I stepped forward, taking a breath but otherwise not hesitating. I did not spare a look at Holmes’ reaction. “You have my word, Macnair. If you win, I will go with you, no questions asked, in whatever manner you like. As long as the murders cease.”

“That is indeed interesting,” said Macnair, looking between the two of us consideringly. He tossed the gun onto the sofa, making Abbott jump. “There is a great deal of chance involved. How do you aim to play?”

Holmes gestured for him to take a seat at our table, and then sat opposite him as he did, facing the window and me. He then immediately rose to bring the bottle of whiskey that sat on our sideboard and two glasses, which he laid on the table before sitting down once again.

“Simple, it is a test of wills, and will play out as I have said. Bring forth your poison, and put a substantial amount into this glass. We both will drink from it, and continue to do so until we reach an indeterminable round that proved fatal for one of us. Whoever survives emerges victorious.”

Macnair, after a long minute, surprised me by nodding. “Alright.”

I watched, powerless, as the two men prepared their poison-filled glass, and took their seats across from each other. It was madness unfolding before me, and yet something was gluing my feet to the floor, and I cursed my inaction while I was unable to change it. My voice was low when I gasped out, “Holmes, you cannot be serious.”

Holmes just shook his head, not looking at me. “This is the way it has to go, unfortunately. I hope you may forgive me one day, my dear Watson.”

I shook my head, and swallowed back the tears that threatened to spring forward. “Never.”

He nodded. “I understand.” 

Macnair grabbed the glass and held it aloft. “Out of sportsmanship, I will go first, I think.”

Holmes nodded, and allowed him. “That is very good of you, but I assure you I have no plan up my sleeve. This is as much a matter of luck for me as it is to you, Macnair.” He took a deep breath, still keeping his gaze steadfastly forward. “Now, shall we say on ‘three’?”

“Nonsense! This is a test of Fate, and we should be toasting to her!” Macnair sneered. “Or indeed, to Dr. John Watson himself. Cheers!” 

Holmes looked at me finally before he responded in kind, and for that I am eternally grateful.

For the next few actions happened simultaneously, and even in the aftermath took some time to unravel. Lestrade, escaping notice in the tension of the situation, had come up the stairs and had just pushed open the door, disturbing the horrified quiet; I darted forward, his looking at me releasing me from my weakness, to push Holmes away in time, surprising him and dislodging the bottle to spill onto his lap; and finally Abbott, to all our surprise, had grabbed Macnair’s gun off of the settee next to him and fired right into the man’s chest, just as he had taken a sip of the fatal whiskey.

And then everyone went still. In the newfound silence, we watched as Macnair’s glass fell from his hands as he slumped. My medical instincts moved me in autopilot from Holmes to his side, and I began opening his shirt buttons in an attempt to see the wound, which was rapidly staining his shirt red.

“To think,” Macnair stuttered out, his face somehow still strangely sanguine, “that this is what I wanted.”

I ignored him. “Holmes! Retrieve my medical bag for me, please!”

“There is no need for that, I am already almost gone. There isn’t enough time for that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do, Johnny.”

“You are a contemptible man, but you were my friend.” I told him, “How could you have done this?”

He shrugged, then immediately winced. “‘Wanted your attention, didn’t I? And you were one for a puzzle, so I did my best to give you one,” he shifted, shutting his eyes, “- perfectly suited for you.”

“Idiot.” It was harsh, but all I could muster.

Douglas Macnair grinned one final time. “Of course.” The fight left him, and he finally went limp in my arms. 

I closed his eyelids shut before stepping back. His blood was still on my hands and in my shirt cuffs, and I took a deep breath before turning around to face the rest of the room.

Lestrade had an arm restraining Abbott, who was now in chains but otherwise did not move. The both of them wore matching looks of shock. Holmes had stood up, his trousers wet but unheeded, and was watching the scene with a grave look of sorrow on his fine featured face.

It was therefore Lestrade that cautiously broke the silence. “Would the either of you care to explain what in God’s name just happened here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- ah basil dawson, like the characters basil (of baker street) and dr. dawson from the great mouse detective. what a coincidence  
> \- what macnair refers to as a history lesson was holmes remembering the story "The Fatalist" by Mikhail Lermontov of 1840, the first trace of the russian roulette


	6. Freesia: Trust

In the end, what Holmes told Lestrade was an almost complete fabrication. It managed to cover our tracks up well enough, even if the inspector gave me a look when he thought it escaped Holmes’ notice, as if asking me to confirm that the explanation was indeed fact. 

This new telling of events heightened the involvement of James Abbott. Holmes claimed that Douglas Macnair had had an affair with the former’s sister, but Abbott had heard rumors of Macnair’s exploits, and so as the protective brother he had broken their engagement, spurring Macnair’s ire. The latter had then begun taunting Abbott with the murdered lookalikes, with the flowers being a result of the sister’s affinity for floriography. It was only at my own coincidental discovery of them at his club and subsequent invitation to sup at Baker Street that the altercation had broken out and resolved itself. Abbott had stepped in, and acted in order to save Holmes’ life, and should be therefore treated with leniency.

Holmes gave a somewhat kind, genial smile to Abbott, who had blindly agreed with everything he had said, seemingly still stunned by his own actions, but wisely trusting the man to act in his best interest.

“But what of that note found on the body identified to be Frank Longwood, who died here in your sitting room? How does this connect to Dr. Watson?” Lestrade asked.

At that, Holmes fumbled slightly, calculating, and thinking as quickly as I could I supplied him with, “I was a mutual friend of them both, and knew firsthand Macnair’s exploits, so I was the one who informed Abbott when I heard his sister had gotten involved with the blackguard. As such, he took his revenge on me.”

Holmes nodded. “There was some confusion at first in the relation of this case to Watson, an error in my own judgement, but we soon straightened it out and traced it back to Abbott instead.”

“I see, I see.” The inspector shook his head, “Nasty business all around, but proof that you are not always infallible yourself, Mr. Holmes! I am sorry it all fell out at your door, however.”

“As am I,” said Holmes, not even bristling at Lestrade’s slight. “But all is well and truly over now.”

“Thank you for your help,” said I, as I knew my friend would not.

Lestrade wished us well, before taking Abbott away in chains. The young man would stand trial, but with my testimony and the winning speech Holmes no doubt was already drafting in his brilliant mind now, he would be given some clemency and a smaller sentence over all. I gave him a smile as he left, before going to close the door behind them.

Lestrade’s officers had preceded him just before, taking away Macnair's body, and yet the evidence of the ordeal was still all around us. His bouquet of flowers remained carelessly thrown onto Holmes’ desk, and the glasses of whiskey were both strewn onto the floor, emptied of their poison into the floor and Holmes’ black pinstripe trousers. His vial of arsenic sat innocently on our breakfast table.

I sank slowly into my armchair, exhausted by the stressful events of the day. Holmes’ eyes were on me, I could feel their weight, and yet I said nothing so as to give him time to percolate, taking out my cufflinks as I waited. They had been a gift from him last Christmas, and I took care to wipe off any blood I could now, but they would need proper cleaning later. I placed them down onto my side table and sighed, only to find that Holmes’ gaze was still trained on me.

There was a great deal that had been said tonight, and not by me. Whether he knew of the true nature of my regard for him or not, Macnair had been clear when Holmes had been listening, and it would take time and patience to go through it all, and to consider next steps. Especially as I was yet to gather what his reaction to the revelations were, seeing as he had evidently still not found the words.

As it happened, I was growing rather tired of leaving things unsaid. This whole business had been borne out of unsaid feelings: Macnair’s decision to bide his time in telling me rather than give me an opportunity to reject him outright, but also in my own behavior, when I continued cowardly locking up my feelings and only carefully dispensing word of them, only for the dam to burst when I had believed him to be dead and incapable of ever hearing me, speaking those feelings to the first person who would listen. And when Holmes returned and I found it in me to forgive him, I had still been too scared to damage the balance between us, and to give him a reason to step away. I was still torn about what I had deduced of his own feelings toward me, but this case had given me evidence and drive enough to know that it was best if I bit the bullet as it were, because I was apparently even luckier than I knew.

Still, it was best to ease him into it - it was an emotion-filled topic after all. I stood to take one of my cigars off of the mantle before regaining my seat. “Do you have a match, old fellow?”

Wordlessly, Holmes nodded and knelt before my side, lighting my cigar as I held it between my lips and fingers. His expression was concentrated on the thing as he did so, and the second it was lit he stepped away from me as quick as he could, his stare transferring to the carpet at my feet.

I pulled it from my mouth after a long, calming drag. “Are you satisfied with the case, Holmes?”

Holmes snorted. “As satisfied as I can be after the drastic turn of events. Abbott’s actions were unpredictable, even for me, I should say.” He was still as arrogant as ever, however, I noted with affection.

“It was positively unexpected! I would have never seen it coming from the boy.”

“His loyalties ran deep it seems, and he had decided to throw his lot in with your plight from the moment we told it to him.”

“If not with me, but with you! The look on his face when you revealed to him that it was you in disguise last night, he was starstruck I’m sure,” I chanced a glance. “Physical and facial similarities aside, he rather reminded me of me, when we had first become acquainted.”

“And look where that got him.” Holmes’ tone dropped into something that time and experience told me spoke of murkier waters.

I captained the ship onward regardless. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Throwing his lot with us, with _me_ , has only brought him destruction. He had a shining career, a life ahead of him, and yet as a result of my bringing him into the fold he has now been corrupted with a felony charge, convinced to commit murder in my name! His trust in me has ruined him.”

“His actions were his own, Holmes! It was a quick one, yes, but it was his decision alone to pick up the revolver and point it at Macnair, and I will not have blame put on him for having saved your life!”

Holmes walked the length of the room, agitated. “His decisions were influenced by me, however, and that you cannot deny. Since the moment he met me, I have brought only destruction and heartbreak into his life.”

I could sense now that we had ceased to be talking only about young Abbott.

“That may be so,” I said cautiously, “but you forget that other people are allowed to act outside of you, Holmes, whether you would like them to or not. Even if you are in possession of their trust and loyalty, they should not be a burden to you.”

“A burden!” He repeated, aghast.

I decided to jump into the deep end. “Sometimes, I will confess, I have been made to feel as if I am a burden to you, Holmes, and that that is why you do not trust me to bring me into your fold during investigations.”

Holmes was silent, before he took a seat on the settee. He appeared to be confused, and distraught as a result. “But I do those things to protect you, and keep you out of unnecessary harm - surely I have made myself clear on that?”

“Yes, of course I understand your reasoning, but it isn’t about that. It’s about your trust in my abilities! Every time you attempt to shield me from the truth of your actions it stings, because it begins to feel as if you do not think me strong, or smart, or quick enough to handle it and be by your side in whatever you are facing.”

He inhaled slowly, “You are thinking of my three year absence once again.”

“I am thinking of the three years I believed you dead!”

“So you still have not forgiven me for that?”

“That is not what I said.” I sighed, annoyed with myself now that the conversation had taken this unexpected turn. “No. I have long since forgiven you for that, I meant it when I said as much at the time. But the scars are still there, Holmes, and it is not as if you have stopped! Would you really believe I am a weakness to you?

“Well of course you are!” Holmes genuinely shouted, his arms extended, and I was shocked into closing my mouth. He growled before approaching the mantle and picking a cigarette from his case, only to seemingly think better of it and throw it unlit into the fire, his every movement reading of agitation.

“Explain yourself, Holmes.” I said, at length.

“Of course you are my weakness, Watson, I would have thought that obvious from the start! You need only look through our case history to see that my every blunder was almost a direct result of my being distracted in showing off to you, or in wanting to keep you engaged. I have made no secret of wanting your presence as my partner in my work because I desire your insight as much as your company, but it does also bring some assurance to have you living, breathing in front of me. Watson, you are my weakness in that you are evidence that a man’s heart can live outside his body, for you carry mine with you always.”

“What?”

He went on as if he had just not made a statement capable of stopping my breathing completely. “And that is obvious to anyone who wishes to bring about my downfall! You are therefore the natural target as the closest person I have in this world, and of course that means I must take extra measures when necessary to safeguard you against the repercussions of my indulgence of our friendship. I only regret…”

I stood up, having had enough of his tireless pacing, and put a hand on his arm, stilling him at once. “Go on?”

“Watson. You are courageous. Honest. Considerate. Trustworthy. But most of all, my friend, you are forgiving, and it is this trait I have exploited time and time again so that I may satisfy my own need to keep you from harm’s way. And yet I cannot bear to think that you believe that my actions are as a result of my lack of trust in you. For you to even believe that I do not- that my regard for you isn’t but the highest! It is unfathomable.”

He was distraught, and looked to me with an abundance of feeling like I had never seen in him, and emotions that could not have been possible even if I were dreaming. Desperation. Longing. And yet here he stood before me, living and breathing and _real_ , and pleading all the same.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

I gave a shrug, helpless with the grand speech he had just made of my virtues, and his countenance, and what that may mean. “You have made your case, and although some part of me still rebels against it, I realize that there is no way I can come to understand how speedily your mind works when it is confronted with a problem, and how explaining the details of your plans can take time. As long as I have your word that you trust me, and that on the occasion that the situation is truly dire, you take me into your confidence. Can you do that?”

Holmes looked into my eyes and took a deep breath. “I do not believe I can.”

“Why ever not!” I sputtered.

“It is as your Macnair said: I am a selfish man, and I am bound to disappoint. While I have always known that, and you undoubtedly would one day as well, it was nonetheless my responsibility to make sure you did not make this realization in a way that brought you serious harm out of your reliance in me.”

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, Holmes, but let me say this. Macnair was an idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by my frankness, but I soldiered on. “Holmes, you have always - and _will_ always - be nothing short of remarkable to me, and I thought I had made myself clear. In all your shortcomings that have been laid before me, and all our years together, not once have you disappointed me. You have erred, perhaps, on occasion - but I have not once thought ill of you for it. In fact I was heartened by them as it indicated to me that you were as human as I am. All I ask is that you trust me.”

That expression from the previous morning appeared in his eyes again, from when he made the deduction of where my interests lie and I met them to be found with surprise and no little amount of awe. However, he still took a step back from me, even as he acceded, “ _Happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending._ I will… make an effort I suppose then, to show it.” He nodded to himself, before looking once more to me. “For you must understand - Watson, there is no one in this world I trust as I do you.”

“Not even Mycroft?” I asked, but my tone was light, and I knew that he knew that I had truly forgiven him, and that the matter had been put to bed.

As such, he only gave me a small smile before turning to the fire and limiting my view of his beloved face. “Not even Mycroft.”

As far as emotional climaxes went, I guessed that was as far as he would be willing to go tonight, and I knew and respected his limits so I withdrew. Still, I remained in reach, speaking to Mrs. Hudson for the both of us when she came to see about the mess and the conclusion of our homefront adventure, and then as she left finding one of my well-loved novels to read as comfort after the harrowing past few days. At length however, it all began to catch up with me, and after my third or fourth yawn I decided to admit defeat and retire for the night.

I was almost to the door when I was stopped by Holmes calling my name, and dutifully turned.

He was in the same position that he had been for the last hour, sitting with his cherry pipe in his comfortable and worn mouse colored dressing gown, staring deeply into the fire in thought. Now though, his gaze was on me, and was a cross between expectant and realization.

“You have revealed to me much these past few days, and I did not want you to feel as if that left you bereft in any way. You may trust me, my dear, in kind.”

“I do. I have never once done otherwise,” said I, simply.

He gave me a rare smile, bowing his head. “Still. Idiot that Douglas Macnair may be, in many respects some of the things he said tonight can be marked as true.” His tone was one I was familiar with, but only in scenes where he was minutes from triumph, after putting pieces together that no other man would ever fathom.

“Such as?”

He snapped his fingers, for despite his words and the tension currently between us, he was still impatient at my slowness. “His words tonight. He painted a picture of a man heartbroken over one he had loved and lost. Do you deny being that man?”

I swallowed, and steeled myself to stand tall. “I do not. He did not exaggerate; I was emotionally distraught over losing one that I had-” here however I faltered, and softened the words by repeating his own, “that I had such high regard for.”

He shook his head, casting aside his pipe as he sat up. “Your high regard for me, if not greatly exaggerated by him, is something I wholly do not deserve.”

“Here again we disagree, Holmes. For I say there is no one more worthy of my high regard than you.” Despite the lump building in my throat, and the disbelief in my stomach, my heart began to rise in my chest, and I felt as if I was in danger of letting out a laugh.

“And you are sure?”

I lost my battle, and laughed anyway. “After all this time? It is without a doubt.” And in the spirit of no longer leaving things unsaid, and in freeing the words that had been living beneath my breastbone since I could scarcely remember, “I love you.”

It was a long moment as those words floated in the air, and yet I could not regret them. Part of me had believed releasing them would transform me beyond recognition, and yet here was proof that I was the same person, just braver, and with full confidence and trust in my friend.

“Love me.” he repeated, finally breaking the silence. He stood up, apparently dumbstruck. “Why?” And for once, it seemed as if Sherlock Holmes was truly out of his depth.

I walked the short distance to him, and pulled him closer by way of reaching for his hand. “Why, Holmes, I have been in love with you since the moment we first met, and have scarcely stopped since! Of course I do!” I entangled our fingers and he allowed me, his eyes never leaving mine, “I cannot begin to explain how you make me feel, for it is an experience beyond description. It is powerful enough for me to weather anything, even grief, for being at your side is something I have found to cure all wounds. You spoke of luminescence once, and indeed you are a shining light in a world of darkness, and time after time you have brought me back to life with your mere presence and energy. It is inconceivable for me to picture not loving you, Holmes.”

That expression from the previous morning appeared in his eyes again, from when he made the deduction of where my interests lie and I met them to be found with surprise and no little amount of awe. His other hand came to join our grasp, and I fear that the tears that rose within my eyes could not be stopped this time.

“Even now? I confess, Watson, I have proved to be nothing like the omniscient savant you write and somehow believe me to be. It was not until this case fell before us that I even had any clue as to your inclinations. In fact, I believed I was alone in my affections.”

“You really never suspected?”

He shook his head. “It somehow escaped my notice. All these years! Bias, I am sure, played its part. Any indications that I might have noted - past acquaintances, certain mannerisms - I dismissed out of,” he laughed, “wishful thinking! I daren’t hope, and therefore dared not to look. My dear, I may turn out to be a blind man of tricks after all, and quite unimpressive.”

“Never.” I confirmed to this, and the idea that he was alone, so that he may hear again that he was always loved.

“But I have hurt you, many times now. As you have said, I once knowingly allowed you to mourn for me. You have been in great pain as a direct result of my absence, Watson.”

“And yet you have my forgiveness do you not? And I have your trust. I am by your side now, and I have learned that that is more than enough.”

“Still,” said he, almost wildly, “do you not wish to know why I attended that club, that by some trick of Fate herself you in time called your own?”

“You seemed as if you wished to keep it a secret.”

He shook his head once again. “I can no longer see point in doing so. I attended for the same reason that you did, I believe. I harbored some intense internal hatred before loneliness at your marriage won out in the end, and although my own paranoia sparked the disguise you saw me don, I sought out community against desolation as I believed my feelings for you to be quite unrequited.”

“And now?”

“I have had no such qualms as to return.”

I smiled, and pressed a kiss to his hand as he had mine that night and in my dream. He lifted his other to cup my face. “Watson,” he did not seem to be capable of saying more, but I knew his intention, and I leaned into his touch. It was a new experience, to feel the calluses of his much admired hands so tenderly on my person as he held me as if I were something to be treasured. There was not anything like it.

“Now,” I cleared my throat, “do you have more protestations and reasons for me not to love you? Should I ask then, for what reasons do you love me?”

He gasped at me, and I laughed once more which made him color slightly. His reaction as to my wording essentially confirmed it, and was endearingly sweet in a way that I would never have predicted of him, and I relished seeing this new version of him. I tightened my grip on the hand I held in between my own. It would be quite some time before I could bear to let go.

“That is a question not even I could possibly answer.” He smiled winningly, making me chuckle.

“I had never hoped to love and be loved in such a way, and yet here it is so easily before me, real without a doubt. But I have learned now that that is the nature of love, dear heart, that it exists for the same reasons that flowers grow - a display of Providence’s simple kindness.”

It is then that Holmes kissed me, a simple answer to the question we had both been asking of each other since the beginning. _Do you trust me? Do you need me? Do you love me?_

I kissed him back and corresponded, _of course._

.

.

.

The events of this singular case can never be published, that much has been abundantly clear since the moment the body was found in our sitting room. I considered for a while not penning it at all for risk of our safety, and yet over time have reconsidered, finding comfort in putting it to paper here, in my most private of journals where it will then, of course, go on to the tin-dispatch box at Cox & Co along with the rest of my materials that carry details of cases that deal with delicate matters.

The case of the mysterious floriography was in the end, more of a personal adventure than a crime-solving experience, so would not be due for publishing regardless, but the memory of events has been one I have touched upon in the years since then that I have spent with Holmes, as a testament of how far we have come since we first took those fumbling steps toward each other, and to understanding what we had between us. Douglas Macnair was a regrettable foe, and I did indeed mourn his loss as both a friend and person I had once dearly trusted, but he made his choices as well as I made mine in the end. His final act was to bring me to voice those words unsaid, and however awful I do have him to owe gratitude towards for that ushering of a new era in mine and Holmes’ relationship. As for the latter, I still have but the highest regard for him, and he is still as he was then and forever will be to me, the best and the most wisest man whom I have ever known.

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the conclusion of holmes' rant abt weakness is abridged ofc, from the concepts in i carry your heart with me(i carry it in by ee cummings  
> \- watson's virtues in the same rant are taken from the play by Lee Shackleford, _Holmes and Watson_  
>  \- holmes also quotes twice from shakespeare's much ado about nothing, act 2 scene 3. one is obvious, and the other "Love me. Why?" was just for me. i like to think watson would also prefer the comedies  
> \- any other references that u thought were references probably are! well spotted i love you

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> if u want holmes content touched by me watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQUk2WTZh8SFd_eOD9eomMg/), which i also worked hard on, but in general im [drwctson](https://drwctson.tumblr.com/) on tumblr so come say hi if u liked this !! if u didnt u can still come say hi i guess  
> 


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